WILEY & PUTNAM'S 



LIBRARY OF 

/ 



AMERICAN BOOKS. 



C H A U C E K. 



SELECTIONS 



POETICAL WORKS 



GEOFFRY CHAUCER 



'/ - 



WITH A CONCISE LIFE OF THAT POET, AND REMARKS ILLUSTRATIVE OF HIS OBNICS. 



CHARLES D. DESHLER, 



OLD FKIrttDS.OIiD WINH, OI.D BOOKS. 




NEW YORK AND LONDON: 
WILEY AND PUTNAM 



1847. 



>6 



^^^ 




''-■e^/' 



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Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1847, by 

WILEY & PUTNAM, 

in the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the Southern District of New York. 



B Obaiohkad'8 Power Press, 
113 Fulton Street 



CONTENTS 



Introdtjction. ......... vii 

Remarks on Pronunciation. xi 

CHAPTER I. 

Chaucer's birth and parentage. — His residence at Woodstock. — Fills 
various offices — Probable visit to Petrarch. — House of Fame. — Em- 
bassage to France. — His difficulties, return of prosperity and retire- 
ment. — Death. — Gleanings of his character, habits, and appearance, 
from his writings.— Nature of his satires. — His " Retractation." 1 

CHAPTER H. 

The effects produced upon the English language by Chaucer's writ- 
ings. — The grade and quality of his genius .21 

CHAPTER III. 

Characteristics of Chaucer's poetry. — His estimate of woman, and fond- 
ness for birds, flowers, and rural scenery. — Control over language.— 
Omission to celebrate the great personages of his age and nation. 30 

CHAPTER IV. 

Resemblances of Poets. — Chaucer and Spenser. — Chaucer and his 
translators and imitators. — Specimen of Dryden's powers as a trans- 
lator of Chaucer ... 43 

CHAPTER V. 

Prologue to the Canterbury Tales. — Analysis of Prologue. . . .60 



vi CONTENTS. 



SELECTIONS. 

I. Rural, Descriptions — 1. A walk.— 2. Another walk.— 3. A 
walk in May. — 4. A walk, an arbor, and birds — 5. A garden and a 
■well, — 6. The daisy. — 7. Flowers and a grove. — 8. A garden and 
birds. — 9. Singing of birds.— 10. An eagle near the sun. — 11. Song 

of birds in praise of Love and May. — Note to Rural Descriptions. . 85 

II. Paintings. — Female Characters. — 1. Beauty. — 2. Creseiae. — 
3. RosialL— 4. Emelie the Bright. — 5. Venus and Cupid. — 6. Ali- 
soun.— 7. Virginius's daughter.— S. Gladnesse. — 9. Richesse.— 10. 
Idlenesse. — 11. Largesse. — 12. Fraunchise. — 13. Nature. — 14. A 
beauteous lady. — 15. A group of ladies and of knights. — Note to 
Paintings of Female Characters 117 

III. Paintings.— Masculine Characters. — 1. Lycurge. — 2. Eme- 
trius. — 3. Mirth. — 4. Troilus.— 5. A parish clerk 147 

IV. — Narrative Poetry.— 1. The young martyr. — 2. A resurrec- 
tion. — 3. Fable of the crow. — 4. Death and the three rioters. — 5. 
The cock and the fox, and note. — 6. Hugelin of Pise, and note. — 7. 
Wife of Bathes tale 155 

V. Miscellaneous. — 1. The temple of Mars. — 2. Preparation for a 
tournament. — 3. The tournament. — 4. Death of Arcite. — 5. Cha- 
racteristics of a gentleman. — 6. Apparel and demeanor of the gal- 
lants of Chaucer's time. — 7. Fortune. — 8. Reason's character of 
Love. — 9 Sepulchre of Pity. — 10. House of Fame. — 11. Fame's hall, 
and the Goddess of Fame.— 12. The trump of Slander or DifTame. — 
13. The house of Rumor. — 14. The tower of Jealousy. — 15. Glut4 
tony. — IG. Drunkenness. — 17. Gambling. — 18. Swearing. . . 224 

APPENDIX. 

Gower 215 

Lydgate 278 

Gawin Douglas 283 

Story of Cockaygne . 289 

Hymn to May, from Herrick 294 



INTRODUCTION. 



That the glorious old masters of English Song are so little known to 
the American people, is the source of real regret to the present writer. 
Save Shakspeare — whose mighty and universal genius has burst the 
trammels of time and circumstance — there is scarcely one of this noble 
galaxy, whose mere name is tolerably well known, or whose labors are 
universally appreciated. Upon a favored few indeed, does their melody 
fall 

" Like a silent dew ; 
Or like those maiden showers, 
Which, by the peep of day, do strew 
A baptism o'er the flowers." » 

They hoard their sayings, weep over their pathos, laugh over their rich 
and varied humor, are startled and astounded by the power of their de- 
scriptions and the gorgeousness of their imaginations. However favored 
they may be, unlike the votaries of Mammon or Fashion, these are 
neither selfish nor exclusive ; but being ardently desirous of widening 
the territory of Delight, and of multiplying the number of those with 
whom they may meet in sympatliy and gratulation, they dispense with 
burning tongue and liberal hand, the bounties of which they have them- 
selves partaken. 

> Herrick. 



INTRODUCTION. 



If our reading public — we do not merely mean those who gorge them- 
selves with an unlimited number of Novels and Tales per annum ; nor 
that fastidious circle who lisp the monthly twaddle of our magazine 
literature — if these but knew of the many rare gems that might here be 
had, not by patient delving in the coarse and flinty earth, but for the 
mere plucking from fair trees, from whose boughs they hang in rich and 
tempting clusters ; if they knew that " Nature never set forth the earth 
in so rich tapestry as divers old poets have done ; neither with so plea- 
sant rivers, fruitful trees, sweet-smelling flowers, nor whatsoever may 
make the too-much loved Earth more lovely :"i then perhaps the eager 
rush for possession and enjoyment would be an ample apology for the 
present apathetic ignorance. 

The ignorance and apathy of which we complain occasion the more 
poignant regret, because their objects are the wells from whence the 
great poets of England and our own land have drawn so freely, and with 
such salutary consequences. Years are wrecked by the mechanic who, 
unheeding the experience of the past, pits the inventions and combina- 
tions of his single mind against the thousands, his equals or superiors, 
that have gone before him ; and who travels on, trusting to his own 
native genius for enlightenment and success. With the Artist the same 
holds equally true. He that is content with or trusts solely upon his 
own mind, and rejects or neglects the study of the past, may be sure of 
an insignificant mediocrity. So with the Poet ; the pure fire of Genius 
may have been kindled upon the hearth-stone of his Imagination ; but if 
it be not fostered and nurtured by the strong and wise counsel of those 
who now sleep with their perfect fame wrapped about them, it will only 
glimmer sadly and die. And as there is in the bosom of this broad land 
of ours, many rich veins of ore — either of lead, or iron, or gold — that 
only wait for the hand of art to hale them into the light of the sun, and 
to diffuse their blessings among the children of men : so may there not 
be among our millions, many a true child of Song in whose bosom glim- 
mers the fire of Poesy, and who only waits till the plastic hand of educa- 
tion shall transform the glimmering spark into a fixed star ? 

When we speak of a poet's education, it is another thing from that 
which we every day call by the name. For a poet's education must be 

» Sir Philip Sidney, Def. Poesy, p. 10. 



INTRODUCTION. 



entrusted to none otlier than a poet ; the draughts of the young immortal 
must be from a pure fountain head. He must sit at the feet of the great 
departed, and drink in the wisdom of their " reverend antiquity." He 
must compare and contrast the throbs of their hearts with his own, till 
at the last he will, by companionship with them, be elevated more nearly 
to their level. And his reason must be 

" Ripened by years of toil and studious search, 
And watch of Nature's silent lessons." — Bryant. 

Like a young eaglet, the youthful poet will dare to fly, while he can only 
flutter ; and his daring spirit must not be held in charge by one who 
would fain clip his wings and fetter his pinions. He needs direction 
rather than governing. With a singular fatuity our colleges and uni- 
versities will not waste a thought upon fostering and nurturing poets. 
Bending to the utilitarianism of our age and nation, their stereotype 
productions are lawyers, physicians and clergymen ; and a professorship 
of poetry is a thing as yet unheard of in an American college. There- 
fore it is also, that instead of concentrating the attention of their charges 
upon the mighty men of old who gave consistency to our noble language 
— or upon any single point of mental discipline — they, are content with 
dragging their listless victims into unwilling discussions upon Greek 
and Latin trivialties ; and with causing them to dabble, now in Mathe- 
matics, now in Philosophy, now in Jurisprudence, until the literary cha- 
racter of an inmate of one of our colleges is aptly described by the 
apophthegm, " Sicut canis ad Nilum, bibens et fugiens." This too, while 
our own noble language, the language of Shakspeare and Milton, is 
less thoroughly understood, and its manifold beauties less appreciated, 
than those of any other that is taught ; and while it teems with treasures 
neither deftly nor deeply hidden. . 

Chief among the throng with whom we burn to have our people fa- 
miliar, and whose imperishable writings should make each name seem 
like the blast of a trumpet, are these : the father of English song, 
Chaucer ; Milton's master, " the sage and serious Spenser ;" Sidney, 
the Hero-Poet ; " Rare old Ben " Jonson ; and Chapman, and Marlowe > 
and Surrey, and Raleigh ; Beaumont and Fletcher, and Carew and Her- 
rick. These are some of the mighty men whose lips are unsealed to a 



INTRODUCTION. 



scanty few, when each nation that calls the Saxon tongue its own, 
should sit at their feet and drink in the harmony and wisdom. 

Not anything has been done to introduce the writers above mentioned 
to the acquaintance of our reading public, save the publication about a 
year ago of " Lowell's Conversations," and more recently the re-publica- 
tion of Leigh Hunt's " Fancy and Imagination," Lamb's " Selections," 
and Hazlitt's " Lectures." All of these, in accordance with the design 
of their several authors, cover considerable ground, and though they are 
glowing and highly meritorious critiques, are yet insufficient for the 
practical purposes of exemplars ; for before one is fairly introduced to 
an author, they must part. With the view of filling a part of the va- 
cuum which exists, the editor of this compilation has determined to in- 
troduce to his countrymen GeofTry Chaucer, one as far from being 
universally known as any, and yet the one whom all poets delight to 
honor as the founder of English poetry. And at the same time, he 
would earnestly pray those who may favor these pages with their atten- 
tion, not to be satisfied therewith, but to study the great poet, from whose 
exuberance these choice gems have been plucked. 



TO THE READER OF CHAUCER. 



Due attention to the following remarks, by Tyrwhitt, upon the pronun- 
ciation and accent of words used by Chaucer, and their seeming metrical 
irregularity, will enable us to read him with ease and pleasure. 

And first, with regard to such offences against metre, as arise from a 
superjiuity of syllables : 

" With respect to this first species of irregularity, I have not taken 
notice of any superfluities in Chaucer's verses, but what may be reduced 
to just measure by the usual practices of modern poets. They may all, I 
think, be comprehended in our language under this one general principle, 
that an English verse, though chiefly composed of feet of two syllables, 
is capable of receiving feet of three syllables in every part of it, provided 
only one of the three syllables be accented." 

Secondly, with reference to such offences as arise from the deficiency 
of a syllable or two : 

" In some of these, perhaps the defect may still be supplied from MSS., 
but for the greatest part I am persuaded no such assistance is to be ex- 
pected ; and, therefore, supposing the text in these cases to be correct, 
it is worth considering whether the verse may not also be made correct, 
by adopting in certain words a pronunciation, different indeed from mo- 
dern practice, but which, we have reason to believe, was used by the 
author himself 

" For instance, in the genitive case singular and the plural number of 
nouns, there can be no doubt that such words as shoures, croppes, shireSf 
lordes, &c., were regularly pronounced as consisting of two syllables. 

" In like manner, we may be sure that ed, the regular termination of 



REMARKS ON PRONUNCIATION. 



the past tense and its participle, made, or contributed to make, a second 
syllable in the words, jperced, bathed, loved, wered, &c. 

" But nothing will be found of such extensive use for supplying the 
deficiencies of Chaucer's metre as the pronunciation of the e feminine '^ 
and as that pronunciation has been for a long time antiquated it may be 
proper here to suggest some reasons for believing that the final e in our 
ancient language was very generally pronounced, as the e feminine is at 
this day by the French. 

" With respect to words imported directly from France, it is certainly 
quite natural to suppose, that, for some time, they retained their native 
pronunciation ; whether they were nouns substantive, as hosle, face : 
adjectives, as large, strange : or verbs, as grante, preclie, &c. And it 
cannot be doubted that in these and other similar words in the French lan- 
guage, the final e was always pronounced, as it still is, so as to make 
them dissyllables. 

" We have not indeed so clear a proof of the original pronunciation 
of the Saxon part of our language ; but when we find that a great num- 
ber of those words which in Chaucer's time ended in e, originally ended 
in a, we may reasonably presume that our ancestors first passed from the 
broader sound of a to the thinner sound of e feminine, and not at once 
from a to e mute. 

" We may also presume, that in words terminated, according to the 
Saxon form, in en, such as the infinitive modes and plural numbers of 
verbs, and a great variety of adverbs and prepositions, the n only was at 
first thrown away, and the e', which then became final, continued for a 
long time to be pronounced as well as written. We may, therefore, 
safely conclude, that what is generally considered as an e mute in our 
language, either at the end or in the middle of words, was anciently pro- 
nounced, but obscurely, like the e feminine of the French." 

Thirdly, with reference to the misapplication of accents : 

" We must be cautious of concluding too hastily that Chaucer accented 
the syllables that we do. On the contrary, I am persuaded that in his 
French words he most commonly laid his accent according to the French 
custom (upon the last syllable or the last but one, in words ending in e 

1 " The true e feminine is always to be pronounced with an obscure, eva- 
nescent sound, and is incapable of bearing any stress or 2LCcent."—Tyrwhitt 



REMARKS ON PRONUNeiATION. 



feminine), which, as is well known, is the very reverse of our practice. 
Thus he uses Ucour, for Uquour ; curdges, for courages ; cordge, for 
courage; reson, for reason; vidge, for voyage ; visage, for visage; ma- 
nere, for manner ; laboiire, for Idhour ; j)reldt, for prelate ; langdge, for 
language ; maridge, for mdrriage ; coniree, for country ; and so through 
the whole work. 

" In the same manner he accents the last syllable of the participle 
present, as wedding, coming, for wadding, coming ; living, for living; 
crying, for crying; brenning, for hr^nning, Sic, and as lie does this in 
words of Saxon as well as of French growth, I should suppose that the 
old participle of the present tense, ending in and, was originally accented 
upon that syllable, as it certainly continued to be by the Scottish poets a 
long time after Chaucer." — TyrioMlfs Essay on Lang, and Versif. 
Chaucer, sec. 13 to 17, inclusive. 

Concurrent with the above are Hazlitt's remarks upon Chaucer's ver- 
sification. Says he : " Chaucer's versification, considering the time at 
w^hich he wrote, and that versification is a thing in a great degree me- 
chanical, is not one of his least merits. It has considerable strength and 
harmony, and its apparent deficiency in the latter respect arises chiefly 
from the alterations which have since taken place in the pronunciation 
or mode of accenting the words of the language. The best general rule 
for reading liim is to 'pronounce tlie final e, as in reading Italian." — Lec- 
tures on Eng. Poets, art. Chaucer and Spenser. 



CHAUCER 



CHAPTER I. 

Chaucer's birth and parentage. — His residence at Woodstock. — Fills vari- 
ous offices. — Probable visit to Petrarch. — House of Fame. — Embassage 
to France. — His difficulties, return of prosperity, and retirement — Death.. 
— Gleanings of his character, habits and appearance, from his writings. 
— Nature of his Satires. — His " Retractation." 

When we reflect that Chaucer was the prolific parent of that 
generous brood, who reared the grand and beautiful superstruc- 
ture of English Poetry, our admiration of the Genius which shone 
so brightly in times rude and uncultivated, will be merged in our 
gratitude to the Author of so great good to man. It is to be pre- 
sumed, therefore, that a concise narrative of the principal events 
of his life will be as acceptable an offering to the taste of his 
admirers, as it most assuredly has been a labor of love to its 
compiler. 

Geoffry Chaucer, " the most illustrious ornament of the reign 
of Edward the Third, and his successor, Richard the Second," 
was born, as all agree, A.D., 1328. Of his parentage nothing 
is known, beyond the fact that his family were citizens of Lon- 
don, and were able to atford him a classical education. We may 
also say, upon the authority of the antiquarian Warton, that ''"he 
was educated at Oxford, where he made a rapid progress in the 
scholastic sciences as they were then taught : but the liveliness 



CHAUCER. 



of his parts, and the native gaiety of his disposition, soon recom- 
mended him to the patronage of a magnificent monarch, and 
rendered him a very popular and acceptable character to his 
brilliant court." Tyrwhitt, however, conjectures that Chaucer 
was not educated at Oxford, and asserts that to Cambridge be- 
longs that honor. He rests his opinion upon the insufficient testi- 
mony that may be wrung from a portion of one of Chaucer's ear- 
liest productions, " The Court of Love," where a lady is fan- 
cied to propound the following question to her admirer — 

" What is your name ? rehearse it here I pray, 
Of whence and where, of what condition 
That ye ben of:" 

To which the enamored swain thus replies — 

" My name, alas my herte, why makes thou strange ? 
Philogenet I call'd am far and near 
Of Cambridge clerk." 

In order to evade the difficulty thus conjured up, most of his 
biographers insist that Chaucer was first educated at Cambridge, 
and from thence removed to Oxford, in order to complete his 
studies. But this conjecture of Tyrwhitt's is purely apocryphal, 
and owing to his fidelity and good judgment, which were prover- 
bial, has been dignified into an importance which it scarcely de- 
serves ; for Philogenet is confessedly an assumed name, and all 
the circumstances which are ushered in with him are assumed. 
The truth is, we believe, Chaucer was narrating a fiction, whose 
details it were absurd to elevate into facts. 

We may suppose that Edward and his noble Queen Philippa,^ 
who were munificent patrons of Literature and Chivalry in the 
persons of Froissart and Walter De Manny, would not suffer a 

' Queen Philippa was also the founder of Queen's College, Oxford. 



RESIDENCE AT WOODSTOCK. 



genius — as brilliant as Chaucer's proved itself at an early day — 
to die for lack of encouragement. We consequently find that 
through the greater part of his early life, he resided at or near 
the court ; and a square stone house near the park gate, at Wood- 
stock, is still called " Chaucer's house," from his having occu, 
pied it while in attendance upon the King. This mansion " com- 
manded a prospect of the ancient magnificent royal palace, and 
of many beautiful scenes in the adjacent park ; its last remains, 
chiefly consisting of what was called Chaucer's bed-chamber, 
with an old oaken roof, evidently original, were demolished about 
fifteen years ago (1763). Among the ruins they found an 
ancient gold coin of the city of Florence. Before the grand re- 
bellion, there was, in the windows of the church at Woodstock, 
an escutcheon in painted glass, of the arms of Sir Payne Ruet, a 
knight of Hainault, whose daughter Chaucer married."^ Some 
farther particulars in relation to " Chaucer's house " may be 
gathered from the following lines, probably written in it ; in 
which the Poet describes his awakening from a dream, and en- 
countering the positive realities by which he was surrounded : 

" From my bed I forth did lepe 
Wening to be at the feast, 
But when 1 woke, all was ceast. 
For there n'as lady nor creature, 
Save on the walls old jjortraiiure 
Of horsemen, liaukes and houndes, 
And hurt deer full of woundes.^^ 

It was to this retreat that he subsequently retired from the perse- 
cutions of his enemies, in 1391, to write his famous treatise on 
the Astrolabe ; and here, also, at the age of twenty, he is sup- 
posed to have written his " Court of Love," and to have translated 
" Boethius de Consolatione Philosophice." 

» V/arton's Hist. Eng. Poetry, vol. ii., p. 44. 



CHAUCER. 



About ten years after this (A.D., 1359), he accompanied the 
army of Edward the Third in his expedition to France, and was 
made prisoner by the French, near the town of Retters ; but was 
released after a short imprisonment. 

The first facts of a public nature which we possess, to prove 
that our poet had attracted the regard of his sovereign, are the 
grants to him by the King, of two several annuities, in the thirty-' 
ninth and forty-fourth years of his age ; with the successive 
titles, " Our Yeoman " and " Our Squier." To the latter title 
was added, the honor of Envoy to Genoa, whither he went to 
negotiate for a supply of ships for the King's navy, and to treat 
with the Genoese authorities in reference to the opening of a 
port in England for their commerce/ While he fulfilled the 
duties of this station, it is said that he visited and conversed with 
Petrarch, and it is highly probable that he had the same gratifi- 
cation four years previously ; at which time he is said to have 
accompanied the Duke of Clarence, to his nuptials with Violante, 
daughter of Galeazzo, Duke of Milan. ^ That he had at some 
time seen and conversed familiarly with Petrarch, seems to be 
clear, for in addition to the presumption that he would never have 
visited Genoa — where he remained nearly a year — without 
traversing the short distance between it or Florence and Padua, 
in order to see that great Poet ; and to the tradition that they were 
both present at the marriage of the Duke of Clarence, we have 
the testimony of Chaucer himself, who, in his prologue to the 
Clerk's tale, says — 



" I wol you tell a tale, which that I 
Lerned at Padowe of a worthy clerk. 
As proved by his wordes and his work : 
He is now ded, and nailed in his chest, 
I pray to God to give his soule rest. 

1 Floyd's Biographia and Nicolas's Chaucer. *Rev. T. Wavton. 



PROBABLE VISIT TO PETRARCH. 



Francis Pelrark, the laurcat poctc 
Highte this clerk, whose rethorike sweet 
Enlumined all Itaille of poetrie." 

We have arrived at this belief in opposition to the learning of 
Tyrwhitt's arguments, and to the more voluminous but more tor- 
tuous and indefinite objections of Sir H. Nicolas. Both of these 
critics seem to have been excessively, and justly, angry with 
Godwin, who, in his Life of Chaucer, was guilty of the most 
intemperate use of his imagination ; and they evidently make a 
merit of combating every deduction which his ingenuity could 
invent, or his industry search out. And although, in general, 
we would decline to acknowledge him as sufficient authority 
when opposed to these eminent men, yet we cannot but notice in 
this instance that their Pegasus is as halting as his is uncurbed. 
But if we had no other testimony in proof of this interesting visit, 
than that furnished by the lines above quoted, we would willingly 
rest upon that. For it is scarcely possible that any author, when 
narrating even a fiction — that is based upon real life — shall fail 
to identify some of his opinions, some of the various circumstan- 
ces of his life, and t!ie opinions and events he attributes to his 
ideal characters. All great poets, whose maxim has been, 
" Fool, look into thy heart and write," do this, and in modern 
times we have not ceased to invest our ideal creations with our 
own opinions, and to array them in the garniture of our own per- 
sonal realities. It may also be noted that in the Prologues to his 
various tales, Chaucer always takes unusual license ; they are 
the vehicle for his conversations vvith his audience or readers, 
and he seizes the occasion to allude to himself and his peculiar 
notions ; and although he does not suffer himself to appear in 
person as the narrator of any other tales than " The Rime of 
Sire Tliopas," and the " moral tale vertuous " of Melibeus, yet 
the character of the Clerk was kindred to his own, and he would 



CHAUCER. 



very naturally prefer to make him the organ of his ideas : for 
they both were of Oxford, both were scholars, and fonder of 
reading and study than of " robes riche or fiddle or sautrie ;" 
both were philosophers, and ready to learn or dispense learn- 
ing, and neither " spake a word more than was needed." Besides, 
whensoever he quotes from an author, Chaucer always manfully 
gives due credit. He pirates not at all. " Thus saith Dant;" 
"So Caton saith; "As saith Senek;" "As telleth Titus 
Livius." This is the curt but honest mode in which he always 
adduces his originals. And the instance under examination is the 
solitary one in which he arrogates a personal knowledge of his 
author. And we think that he departs from his confirmed cus- 
tom in this instance, " because," to use the language of Godwin, 
" he was eager to commemorate his interview with the venera- 
ble patriarch of Italian letters, and to record the pleasure he had 
reaped from his society. Chaucer could not do this more effect- 
ually than by mentioning his having learned from the lips of 
Petrarch a tale which had been previously drawn up and deli- 
vered to the public by another. "^ 

The result of his travels in Italy and of his conference with 
Petrarch, v\^as his strenuous cultivation of the Italian and Proven- 
cal Poets; which, at the same time they added to his already 
overflowing stores of classical lore, provided him with a never- 
failing spring from whence to draw incidents and characters for 
his Muse, and enabled him to enrich and beautify his native tongue. 

In his forty-sixth year, Chaucer, by the bounty of his royal 
master, was granted for life a pitcher of wine daily, and was also 
appointed Comptroller of the Customs of wools, wool-fells, and 
hides ; a post which will appear neither inconsiderable nor unim- 
portant, if we reflect that in his time " wool was the principal 
article of export and source of revenue ;"^ and possessing an in- 

* Boccacio, from whose Decameron Petrarch translated it into Latin, 
p. 230. 



APPOINTED COMPTROLLER OF THE CUSTOMS. 7 

come of one thousand pounds per annum :' — and it was in the 
midst of severe personal application to the duties of this office, 
that he wrote the " House of Fame." Tyrwhitt is highly in- 
censed that Edward should have exposed Chaucer's genius to the 
" petrifying " influence of Custom-house accounts ; and departing 
from his usual gentleness denies to him " the gift of discerning 
or patronizing a great poet," and asserts "that his majesty was 
either totally insensible of our author's poetical talents, or at least 
had.no mind to encourage him in the cultivation or exercise of 
them." All this sourness on the part of that admirable critic, is 
owing to the following customary injunction, which the king en- 
tered in the patent granting to Chaucer the Comptrollership : " So 
that the said Jeffrey write with his own hand his rolls touching 
the said office, and continually reside there, and do and execute 
all things pertaining to the said office in his own proper person, 
and not by his substitute." Mr. Ellis, more just than Tyrwhitt, 
observes that " it should be remembered that Chaucer voluntarily 
exposed his talents to an almost equal risk by composing a treat- 
ise on the astrolabe ; that his mathematical skill was, perhaps, 
not very uselessly employed in unravelling the confusion of the 
public accounts ; that the task imposed upon him was at least no 
mean compliment to his probity ; and that, after all, it produced 
no fatal effect on his genius, since, as Mr. Tyrwhitt conjectures, 
it did not prevent him from writing his ' House of Fame,' during 
the intervals of his labor. "^ That he fulfilled the duties of his 
office with diligence and integrity, we may presume, from the 
facts, that the year following he was appointed by the king to the 
honorable trust of guardian to Sir Edward Staplegate's heir; and 
that shortly after, and in the last year of the reign of Edward 
the Third — whose favor he enjoyed to the last — he was sent to the 
Court of France, as one of a commission to treat of a marriage 

1 Equivalent to $15,000 in our times. 

2 Ellis's Specimens of Early Eng. Poetry. 



CHAUCER. 



between the Prince of Wales and a daughter of the French King. 
One of his associates upon this important expedition was Sir Guis- 
card D'Angle, a knight celebrated over all Europe for his heroic 
exploits ; and who immediately upon the death of King Edward 
" was created Earl of Huntingdon, and the young King himself 
was placed under his tutorship with the approbation of all, to in- 
struct him in the paths of virtue and honor. "^ 

After the death of Edward the Third, our poet enjoyed the fa- 
vor of his grandson and successor Richard the Second, who, per- 
ceiving and appreciating Chaucer's diplomatic merit, employed 
him upon several important missions to the governments of France 
and Italy. In the early part of the turbulent reign of that un- 
happy Prince, and owing in part to his friendship for Wickliffe, 
but chiefly from his attachment to John of Gaunt, Duke of Lan- 
caster (who afterwards married Chaucer's wife's sister^), he con- 

' Froissart, p. 224. 

^ This lady whom the Duke of Lancaster married was his third wife ; 
and as Froissart's account of an event, which materially influenced Chau- 
cer's fortunes, is curious, we will transcribe it. " The lady whom the 
Duke of Lancaster married was called Catherine, and in her youth she had 
been of the household of the Duchess Blanche, of Lancaster. Before the 
Lacly Blanche's death, and even when the Duke was married to his second 
wife Constance, the daughter of Don Pedro, he cohabited with the Lady 
Catherine de Roet, who was then married to an English knight now dead 
(Sir Hugh Swynford). The Duke of Lancaster had three children by her 
previous to marriage, two sons and a daughter : the eldest son was named 
John, Lord Beaufort of Lancaster ; the other, Thomas, whom the Duke 
kept at the schools in Oxford, and made a great churchman and civilian. 
He was afterwards Bishop of Lincoln, which is the richest bishopric in 
the kingdom ; from affection to these children the Duke married their 
mother, to the great astonishment of France and England, for Catherine 
Swynford was of base extraction in comparison to his two former duchesses, 
Blanche and Constance. When this marriage was announced to the ladies 
of high rank in England, such as the Duchess of Gloucester, the Countess 
of Derby, the Countess of Arundel, and others connected with the royal 
family, they were greatly shocked, and thought the Duke much to blame. 



HIS DIFFICULTIES. 



nected himscilf with the Lollards, a popular party who espoused 
the religious principles of Wickliife united to the political creed 
of John of Northampton, and who were protected by the Duke 
of Lancaster. Tiiis was an unfortunate step for Chaucer, and 
resulted in his temporary disgrace and imprisonment ; which 
consequences were brought about by the active agency of Tho- 
mas, Duke of Gloucester, the great adversary of the Duke of 
Lancaster ; and lasted for the space of two years. At the expi- 
ration of this period and in the autumn of 1386, he was elected 
a knight for the shire of Kent, and sat in the Parliament that con- 
vened in October of that year. This election, and not, as some 
have supposed, the King's disfavor, cost him the several offices 
which he had hitherto enjoyed, for during the whole time of his 
reverses he received continual proof of his royal master's favor, 
in the pensiojis which were bestowed upon him, and the offices 
that were secured to him. And in 1389 when the young King 
assumed the perils of government and recalled his uncle, John of 
Gaunt, Chaucer immediately received yet more substantial evi- 
dence of regard in his appointment to the office of" Clerk- of the 
Works of the Lord the King within tlie palace of Westminster, 
Tower of London, and divers others the King^ Castles and Ma- 
nors," and it was during the lefsure thus afforded him that he com- 
posed his most celebrated work. The Canterbury Tales. 

They said ' he had sadly disgraced himself by thus marrying his concubine,' 
and added, ' that since it was so she would be the second lady in the king- 
dom, and the queen would be dishonorably accompanied by her ; but that for 
their parts they would leave her to do the honors alone, for they would never 
enter any place where she was. They themselves would be disgraced if 
they suffered such a base-born duchess who had been the Duke's concu- 
bine, a long time before and during his marriages, to take precedence, and 
their hearts would burst with grief were it to happen.' Catherine Roet, 
however, remained Duchess of Lancaster, and the second lady in England, 
as long as she lived. She was a lady accustomed to honors, for she had 
been brought up at court during her youth, and the Duke fondly loved the 
children he had by her, as he showed during his life, and at his death." 



10 CHAUCER. 



It is also alleged that during his imprisonment in the Tower, 
he consoled himself by composing one of his most celebrated 
prose works, " The Testament of Love." This fact, with most 
others relating to that period, is based upon passages in the Tes- 
tament of Love, and must be received with many grains of allow- 
ance. Upon a still more uncertain authority, some of his biogra- 
phers build a story of the details of his imprisonment ; and forming 
their estimate of the doubtful or unknown parts of his history, from 
examples of modern political baseness, they hint rather than assert 
that he was released from confinement upon his making a confes- 
sion to the court impeaching his associates ; the truth of which 
confession, it is also said, he offered to maintain, according to the 
custom of that time, by personal combat. He was moved .to this 
treachery, says the same veritable rumor, by the promise of par- 
don coupled with a poignant recollection of the ingratitude of 
his friends. And upon this gossip Hazlitt clutched, choosing to 
lend his name to sanction a lie, rather than to employ his acute- 
ness in its dispersion ; and unwilling to lose so tempting an op- 
portunity for the display of one of his rounded -and apothegmatic 
sentences : says he, " Chaucer was imprisoned, and made his 
peace with government, as it is said, by a discovery of his asso- 
ciates. Fortitude docs not appear at any time to have been the dis- 
' tiiiguishing virtue of poets. ^' This reflection is itself a falsity, 
unless Hazlitt mentally reserved along list of exceptions, in which 
must have appeared the illustrious names of Dante and Homer, 
of Gower and Douglas, of Sidney and Shakspeare, of Surrey, 
Herrick and Milton : men whose fortitude was as unwaverincr as 
their courage was undaunted. Over this period of Chaucer's 
life, there undoubtedly hangs a gloom which cannot be lifted ; 
nevertheless we indignantly reject as an outrage upon our credi- 
bility, a story unadorned by the attributes of ingenuity or truth- 
fulness, and unsupported by the most shadowy evidence. The 
character of the man for integrity ; his writings which brcatlie 



RETURN OF PROSPERITY— DEATPI. 11 

throughout a chivalrous and lofty nature ; his chosen companion- 
ship by WicklifFe and Gower, who were both undaunted and even 
stubborn champions of wiiat they conceived to be the truth ; and 
the fact tliat he retained the uninterrupted friendship of John of 
Gaunt, as well as the favor of the King, emphatically disprove 
the fiction. 

His circumstances, which had been severely straitened by the 
difficulties above alluded to, and by the approaching infirmities 
of age, were made more comfortable^ at the accession of the son 
of his patron and brother-in-law to the throne, with the title 
of Henry the Fourth. But, in the meantime, we cannot disguise 
the fact, Chaucer tasted the commingled and bitter waters of 
penury and age ; and he was obliged to seek the protection of the 
King, who tenderly guaixled the venerable poet and pliilosoplier, 
and extended over his property and tenants his especial protec- 
tion.* At the last, however, these murky clouds fled away, and 
fortune once more smiled upon our poet. His pensions were 
doubled, and comfort, if not luxurious abundance, blessed the 
last days of the noble old man. He shortly after visited London 
to secure or receive his pensions; but the fatigue incident upon 
an attendance at court at his advanced age, overcame him, and 
he fell sick at a tenement in the garden of the " Chapel of the 
Blessed Mary, of Westminster," which he had tem.porarily rented. 
"While lying upon his death bed he composed the following 
manly ballad, which has all the measured and stately cadence 
of a dirge : — 

" Fly from the prease'^ and dwell with sothfastnesse^ 
Suffise* unto thy good though it be small, 
For hoarding hath hate, and climbing tikelnesse, 
Prease hath envy, and wele is blent over all, 

i Sir H. Nicolas, vol. i., pp. 52, 53. 

^ Crowd or press. 3 Truth. ^ Make sufficient, or be content with. 



12 CHAUCER. 



Savour no more than thee behove shall 
Rede well thyself that other folk would rede 
And Truth thee shall deliver, it is no drede.^ 

Pain thou not each crooked to redress 
In trust of her that turneth as a ball, 
Great rest standeth in little businesse, 
Beware also to spurn against a nail, 
Strive not as doth a crooke^ with a wall. 
Deme'' thyself that demest others' deed 
And Truth thee shall deliver, it is no drede. 

That thee is sent, receive in buxomnesse,* 

The wrestling of this world asketh a fall. 

Here is no home, here is but wildernesse, 

Forth, Pilgrim ! forth, beast, out of thy stall ! 

Look up on high, and thank the God of all ! 

Weive*^ thy lusts, and let thy ghost thee lead, 

And Truth thee shall deliver, it is no drede." ' 

He was buried in Westminster Abbey, arid nearly a century and 
a half after his decease, a splendid tomb was reared over his 
remains by a gifted admirer of his writings. It still forms a 
conspicuous object in Poet's Corner. 

In addition to what we have above collected, it is said, that in 
his youth, while studying at the Inner Temple, '' Geoffry Chaucer 
was fined two shillings for beating a Franciscan Friar in Fleet- 
street ;" that at the age of thirty, being of a fair and beautiful 
complexion, his lips red and full, " his size of a just medium, and 
his air polished and graceful," ® he was married to Philippa Roet, 

1 There is no dread or doubt. ^ ^^ earthen pot or cup. 3 Judge. 
^ Obedience or contentment. ^ Forsake. 
'^ Floyd's Biographia. 



ClIAKACTi':U, HABITS, AND APPEARANCE. 13 



the daughter of a Hainault Knight ; and that later in life he 
became corpulent, and contracted a habit of gazing on the ground. 
Tliat his marriage was a happy one, we are assured by the fol- 
lowing enthusiastic exclamation of his, which occurs in his latest 
production : — 

" Oh ! who could tell, but he had wedded be, 
The joye, the ese, and the prosperitee 
That is betwix an hosband and his wife ? " ^ 

Or tills one, which is still more satisfactory. 

" A wif ! ah Saint Mary, benedicite, 
How might a man have any adversitie 
That hath a wif? certes I cannot say. 
The blisse the which that is betwix them tvvey, 
There may no tonge telle or herte thinke. 
If he be poure, she helpeth him to swinke ^'^ 
She kepeth his good and wasteth never a del f 
All that hire hosband doth, hire liketh well : 
She saith not ones nay, when he saith yea ; 
Do this, saith he ; all ready, sire, saith she. 

O blissful ordre, O wedlock precious, 
Thou art so merry, and eke so vcrtuous, 
And so commended and approved eke. 
That every man that holds him worth a leke, 
Upon his bare knees ought all his lif 

• Thanken his God, that hath him sent a Vvif, 
Or elles pray to God him for to send 
A wif, to last unto his lives end." ^ 

It is also recorded of the poet, that he was more " facetious in 

^ Frankelein's Tale. ^ Work. 

3 Not a bit. 4 Merchant's Tale. 



14 CHAUCER. 



his tales than in his conversation, so much so that the Countess 
of Pembroke used to rally him, by saying that his silence was 
more agreeable to her than his conversation." ^ 

That he was the possessor of great and varied learning, we 
know from the graceful profusion with which it is strewn over 
his numerous productions ; and also that his erudition was ele- 
gant as well as profound, for he possessed an intimate knowledge 
of the Greek, Latin, and Italian classics, in an age when few 
aspired to their passing acquaintance. His treatise upon the 
Astrolabe, moreover, was a chosen I'ecreation from the storms 
and persecutions of life ; and his translation of Boethius was the 
more serious effort of less mature years. 

He was passionately fond of reading, as we may gather from 
his Prologue to the " Legend of Good Women ;" in which he 
shows that his love of reading was subservient only to his love 
of Nature, especially as exhibited by rural sights and sounds. 
He says : 

" And as for me, though I can but lite^ 
On bookcs for to rede I me delite. 
And to them give I faith and full credence, 
And in mine herte have them in reverence 
So hertely, that there is game none 
That fro my bookes maketh me to gone ; 
But it be seldom on the lioly day, 
Save certainly when that the month of May 
Is come, and that I hear the foules sing. 
And that the flowers guinen for to spring. 
Farewell my books and my devotion." 

' D'Israeli : who also mentions the curious fact, that in the British Mu- 
geum is preserved a black stone, on which nature has sketched a resem- 
blance of the portrait of Chaucer.— Cur. Literature. 

'* Know but little. 



CHARACTER, HABITS, AND APPEARANCE. 15 

We have now the sum of the known incidents of this great man's 
life : for the rest we must turn to his imperishable writings. It 
is a singular and most unfortunate circumstance that we know 
literally nothing of the youth of the three greatest poets of whom* 
our tongue can boast : Chaucer, Spenser and Shakspeare. It 
would seem as if it had been decreed that they could not be 
wortliy compeers of Homer, unless their mortal parts were wrap- 
ped in an obscurity as dark as his. We say that the coincidence 
is an unfortunate one, because it is a truth, none the less true for 
being trite, that the example of great men is the best guide to 
greatness. 

Mankind are very properly influenced in forming their estimate 
of a man, by a knowledge of the character and abilities of his 
associates, as well as from any supremacy which these may 
accord to him. The admirers of Chaucer advert, with much 
satisfaction, to the facts of his having been dignified by tlie inti- 
mate friendship of John of Graunt, of Guiscard D'Angle, of 
WicklifTc, and of Gower ; and that he was enthusiastically ad- 
mired — nay worshipped — by Lydgate, Douglas, Occleve, and 
all others who were in that age eminent for rank, learning, or 
genius. 

It is notable of Chaucer, as it is of all great men, that he lived 
far in advance of his age. We do not mean to pollute liis fame 
by charging upon him that sentimentalism which, in our times, 
and under the name of " progress," denies experience to age, or 
wisdom to the past, and sees in its own erratic and arrogant 
dogmas all verity and knowledge : but that his acute mind sin- 
gled out the abuses which fettered the growth of the national 
heart and mind ; that he pioneered the way for Refinement and 
Truth ; and that his perceptions of the Truth led, by an infallible 
process, to his enthusiastic adoption and defence of it, and to 
fearless encounters with Falsehood, in whatever shape it oppress- 
ed the land. Unlike his great contemporary and friend WicklifTe, 



16 ■ CHAUCER. 



his satires do not sparkle with malignity, nor was his denunciation 
of error the fruit of personal enmity. " Wickliffe's attacks on 
superstition at first probably proceeded from resentment :"^ but 
Chaucer's attacks upon the same grew out of his love for the 
Church in which he had been nurtured, and from an ardent 
desire to purify her, and from a living sympathy with his country- 
men. Chaucer was not a mere reformer, and consequently his 
satires, whether upon the superstitions of the Church and the 
Age, or upon the abuses of Custom or Fashion, are not fierce 
and blind onslaughts, frightfully disproportioned to the desired 
end. They never overleap the bounds prescribed by wisdom or 
moderation. Hence it is that Chaucer's caricatures are at this 
day as universally applicable as they were when first written. 
Their truthfulness and perfect good nature recommend them to 
the very class whom he cauterizes. Or as it is roughly, but 
well expressed, by a youthful and accomplished writer of our 
own country i"^ " Chaucer's satire is of quite another complexion 
from Pope's. A hearty laugh and a thrust in the ribs are liis 
weapons. He makes free of you to your face, and, even if you 
wince a little, you cannot help joining in his mirth. He does not 
hate a vice because he has a spite against the man who is guilty 
of it." 

A marked feature of Chaucer's character was his abhorrence 
of superstition and imposture ; and his most severe satires upon 
any class are those directed against the clergy, who swarmed 
over the land in countless varieties ; and who, although usually 
ranged in fierce hostility against each other, agreed in riveting 
the bands of their several degraded and unholy superstitions upon 
the popular mind. Some have inferred, from his continual thrusts 
at the clergy, that therefore he was not a Catholic ; but we are 

^ Rev. T. Warton. See also Mosheim, who was no unfriendly historian, 
Eccl. Hist., vol. iii., p. 332. 

2 James Russel Lowell. Conversations, p. 22. 



DEPRAVITY OF THE CLERGY. 17 

inclined to believe with Tyrwhitt, that he was "as good a Catholic 
as men of his understanding and rank in life liave generally been." 
The inference more generally deducible from his course is, that 
the clergy were greatly depraved, and that he honestly desired to 
work a reformation among them, and to counteract their baleful 
influence upon his countrymen. Of the fact that the clergy were 
awfully depraved, there is plentiful evidence in every history 
relating to that period ; but no single instrument details the spe- 
cific charges so systematically, or is so intrinsically curious, as 
Bishop W ykeham's injunctions in 1373 to his commissioners for 
correcting the abuses in the religious houses in his diocese.^ This 
document censures the clergy for neglecting to perform the various 
services of the churcli ; for the excessive ignorance of some of their 
number; for .their continued and open violation of the rules of 
their order ; for their love of hounds and hunting-matches ; for 
their vanity and tlieir foppishness in dress ; for their personal 
filthiness, and tlieir habit of pawning their holy vestments, or the 
books, plate, and even the relics belonging to their establishments ; 
and for obscenity and wantonness in their very clioirs and 
cloisters. 

As the superiors of these ecclesiastical sinners were unable to 
govern or restrain them, intelligent men among the laity perceiv- 
ed that they themselves must ap})ly the remedy, before the lower 
orders, and the youth and females generally of the land — 
upon whom the clergy exercised the most malign influence — 
became wholly corrupted. Longland and Chaucer, who seem to 
have been providentially adapted to this crisis, almost simultane- 
ously observed the evil and the remedy, and applied it. Know- 
ing the power of ridicule, and aware of its universal adaptation 
to the natural understandings of all classes, and directing it with 
consummate good sense, they defied the power and the arts of 

1 White's Antiquities of Selborne. Appendix. 



18 CHAUCER. 



the clergy ; and stripping them of the reverence which super- 
stition had spun around their order, they held them aloft in their 
naked deformity, and bade all ranks behold and detest their rot- 
tenness. This was the first blow which the people administered 
to priestly arrogance and imposture. 

At the end of the "Parson's Tale," — which is a series of prolix 
essays upon general morality and the various points of Christian 
doctrine, — there is a prayer usually called " Chaucer's Retracta- 
tion." And as the tradition connected with it reflects upon 
Chaucer's character for stability and firmness, and presents him 
to us in the lamentable guise of an old man bereft of his strength 
of mind, and practised upon by fear and superstition, we think it 
proper in this place to devote some attention to it. The impression 
to which this tradition ministers, is, that Chaucer, having through- 
out his work unfairly and dishonestly satirized the Religious, he, 
— later in life, when age and penitence enabled him to see more 
clearly, — regretted his falsehood, and endeavored to atone for it 
in this prayer, by publishing to the world his sorrow and his 
shame. Critics agree, however, that this impression is false ; 
and believe that the portion of the prayer which gives color to it, 
is an interpolation by the monks, who were anxious to destroy 
the effect of Chaucer's scourgings of their order. They also 
argue that the prayer relates only to the " Parson's Tale," and 
not to his works generally ; and that so much of it as is genuine 
is in perfect unison with the character of the good parson, who 
was not 

" Of his speche dangerous, ne digne. 
But in his teaching discrete and benign ;" 

and who, in his humility and modesty, feared that in his tale he 
had given offence, and very naturally desired not to wound the 
feelings of his hearers, who were composed of all classes and 
sects. It is also alleged that this is an interpolation, since it is 



HIS RETRACTATION. 19 

not contained in some of the best manuscripts, and one of the 
most objectionable of his works, " The Romance of the Rose," is 
not in the list of books condemned by it. But if we consider, in 
addition to these arguments, that the Canterbury Tales were 
written when Chaucer was over three-score, and yet that they 
reflect with far more severity upon the clergy than any or all of 
his earlier and more impulsive performances, we must be per- 
suaded that they are expressive of his deliberate opinions ; and 
must reject, as an imposture, the obliterative section of the alleged 
" Retractation," — which is, itself, a portion of these Tales which 
it condemns. 

As the prayer is a curiosity, and its perusal will afford one 
mode of arriving at a judgment as to the point in dispute, we 
here insert it, marking with brackets that portion which the best 
critics have pronounced interpolated : 

" Now pray I to them all that heare this little treatise, or read 
it, that if there be anything in it that liketh them, that thereof 
they thanken our Lord Jesu Crist : of whom proceedeth all 
witte and all goodnesse : and if there be anything that displeaseth 
them, I pray them also that they arrete^ it to the defaute of myn 
unknonning,^ and not to my wille, that would fain have sayd 
better if I had had konning ; for our boke sayth, all that is writ- 
ten is written for our doctrine, and that is myn intente : Where- 
fore, I beseech you, mekely, for the mercy of God, that ye pray 
for me, that Crist have mercie of me, and foryeve me my guiltes 
[and namely of myn translations and enditinges of worldly vani- 
ties, the which I revoke in my Retractations, as the boke of Troilus, 
the boke also of Fame, the boke of the five-and-twenty Ladies, 
the boke of the Duchesse, the boke of Saint Valentine's Day, of 
the Parlement of Briddes, the Tales of Canterbury, thilke Sonnen 
unto Sin, the boke of the Leon, and many another boke, if they 
were in my remembrance, and many a song and many a lecherous 

1 Impute. 2 Ignorance. 



20 CHAUCER. 



lay, Crist, of his grete mercie, foryeve me the sin : But, of the 
translation of Boes of Consolation, and other bokes of legends of 
Saintes and of Omelies, and moralitie and devotion, that thank I 
our Lord Jesu Crist, and his blissful mother, and all the Seintes in 
heven, beseeching them that they from henceforth unto my live's 
end send me grace to bewaile my giltes, and to stodien the sal- 
vation of my soule] and graunte me grace of very penance, 
confession and satisfaction to do in this present life, through the 
benign grace of Him, that is King of Kings, and Preste of all 
Prestes, that bought us with the precious blood of His herte, so 
that I may be one of them at the last day of doom, that shall be 
saved : qui cum Deo patre et Spiritu Sancto vivis et regnas Deus 
per omnia secula. Amen." 



EFFECTS OF HIS WRITINGS. 21 



CHAPTER II. 

The effect produced upon the English language by Chaucer's writings. — 
The grade and quality of his genius 

It will not be deemed presumptuous, perhaps, if, without ventur- 
ing to pronounce critically upon the effect that Chaucer's writings 
liad upon the English language and English poetry, we bring 
together the judgments of those who may be rightfully esteemed 
" doctors" upon that question. 

It is worthy of observation that the two principal censors of 
Chaucer's style, are men who made no pretensions to poetical 
sensibility. They were mere verbal pedants, and their censures 
are based upon a servile adhesion to those rules of philology, 
which their minds recognized as of the first importance. Honest 
old Verstegan, and long after him Skinner, the celebrated pliilolo- 
gist, censure Chaucer as having " deformed the English idiom 
by an immoderate admixture of French words." Diametrically 
opposed to these, and yet belonging to the same family of error, 
are they who deny that Chaucer imported words from the French, 
and who insist that he kept the language precisely as he found it. 
The most judicious critics stand upon a middle ground, and agree 
that he naturalized words both from the French and Provencal, 
and thereby improved and softened our barren and harsh tongue. 
This is the testimony of Dryden, who also asserts that from him 
the purity of the English tongue began. Warton also, the learned 
and elegant author of " The History of English Poetry," says, 
" Edward the Third, while he perhaps intended only to banish a 
badge of conquest, greatly contributed to establish the national 



22 CHAUCER. 



dialect, by abolishing the use of the Norman tongue in the public 
and judicial proceedings, and by substituting the national lan- 
guage of the country. But Chaucer first taught his countrymen 
to write English, and formed a style by naturalizing words from 
the Provencal, at that time the most polished dialect of any in 
Europe, and the best adapted to the purposes of poetical expres- 
sion."^ A kindred writer, Henry Hallam, endorses this opinion 
with a slight reservation : " As the first original English poet, if 
we except Langland, as an improver, though with too much 
innovation, of our language, and as a faithful witness to the 
manners of his age, Chaucer would deserve our reverence, if he 
had not also intrinsic claims for excellences which do not depend 
upon any collateral considerations." Ritson, the querulous but 
indefatigable collector of Ancient English Metrical Romances, 
also affirms'that " the language was greatly improved and enlarged 
by Chaucer," but thinks at the same time, that owing to the 
poverty of our tongue, he was forced to borrow words from the 
French and Provencal, especially in his translations. And lastly, 
Tyrwhitt, the eminent critic upon Chaucer, and the ablest editor 
of his works, proves beyond cavil, by an appeal to antecedent and 
contemporaneous history, the falsity of the charge that Chaucer 
had corrupted the language by an immoderate admixture of Galli- 
cisms, inasmuch as that evil was cluefly attributable to the Nor- 

^ The following is an extract from the famous statute to which Warton 
refers : — " For this that it is oftentimes shown to the King, by the prelates, 
dukes, earls, barons, and all the commonalty, the great mischiefs which 
are come to many of this realm, for this that the laws, customs and statutes 
of the realm are not commonly known in the same realm, because they are 
pleaded, shown and judged in the French language, which is too much 
unknown in the same realm, so that the persons who plead or are im- 
pleaded in the courts of the King, and the courts of others, have not under- 
standing of that which is said for or against them by their sergeants and 
other pleaders, be it ordained that all pleas which shall be to plead, be 
pleaded in the English language," 



GRADE AND QUALITY OF HIS GENIUS. 23 

man Conquest, from the efiects of which the language was just 
recovering. lie admits that Chaucer selected and naturalized 
many words and phrases from the French and Provencal, but 
contends for the truth of the general principle, " that the English 
language must have imbibed a strong tincture of the French long 
before the age of Chaucer; and, consequently, that he ought not 
to be charged as the importer of words and phrases, which he 
only used after the example of his predecessors, and in common 
with his contemporaries." If we add to this, that Home Tooke 
quotes him continually, and with more frequency than any of his 
contemporaries, as authority for his Saxon derivations, the case 
would seem to be conclusively in favor of the more moderate 
theory. 

The great merit of Chaucer's style is not, however, the selec- 
tion of words or phrases, and their naturalization from any foreign 
idiom : but consists in his judicious combination and apt choice 
of such as, by their strength, simplicity, and musical inflexion, 
most fully express the sentiment he aims to convey. And his 
proficiency here was owing to that " perpetual fountain of good 
sense," which irrigates all his writings, and which '• taught him 
what to say, and when to leave off, and caused him to follow 
nature everywhere, but restrained hiin from the boldness o^ going 
beyond her." ^ 

Thus much for the matter of Chaucer's style. The quality 
and grade of his genius now remain to be examined ] and the 
effect that his writings produced upon English poetry. We can 
arrive at a more correct notion of the former point, perhap.s, if we 
first examine the latter. 

The translations and inventions of Chaucer first admitted the 
people who spoke our tongue, to a companionship with the Muses ; 
and laid the foundations upon which the English language was 
elevated to its present dignity. Before, and until the time of our 

1 Dryden's Preface to Palamon and Arcite. 



24 CHAUCER. 



poet, the language was considered semi-barbarous, both at home 
and abroad, and there was no institution of learning where Eng- 
lish was suffered to be taught. '' Children in scole (says a nearly 
contemporaneous writer), ^ agenst the usage and manir of all other 
nations, beeth compelled for to leve hire own language, and for to 
construe hir lessons and hir thynges in Frenche : also gentilmen's 
children beeth taught to speke Frensche from the time that they 
beeth rokked in hire cradles." Late in the reign of Edward the 
Third, this custom was somewhat changed, as Treviza bears wit- 
ness, but Chaucer's youthful Muse was found to struggle with it ; 
and it followed him on close to manhood, for the students of the 
Universities were also compelled to converse in French or Latin. 
So prevalent was this language, that not only the letters and dis- 
patches of the King were always written in French,^ but " the 
minutes of the corporation of London, recorded in the Town 
Clerk's office, were in French, as well as the proceedings of Par- 
liament."^ Joined to these obstacles, was the intense ignorance 
which so universally prevailed during this century, that it was 
quite an unusual thing for a layman, even of the higher ranks, to 
know how to sign his name or read ; and Kings and Emperors 
shared the barren heritage. Books were scarce as rubies and as 
highly prized ; and the transfer of one from one library to another, 
was an event duly recorded, and invested with many solemn legal 
observances. Wickliffe's Bible was not yet written ; and Sir 
John Mandeville's Book of Travels — the first English book — was 
written, A.D., 1356, when Chaucer was in his twenty-eighth 
year, and after he had written the Court of Love and translated 
Boethius. There was not a single historian in English prose, 
even among the clergy, before A.D., 1385,* in the reign of Richard 
the Second, when a translation of Randal Higden's Polychronicon, 
by John Treviza, was dignified by the name of History. And 

^ Higden, who lived in the time of Richard the Second. 

2 Ritson. 3 Hallam's Lit. Eur., p. 47, vol. 1. ^Rjtson. 



GRADE AND QUALITY OF HIS GENIUS. 25 

the voluminous labors of Robert of Gloucester, and Robert De 
Brunne — the only two versifiers or translators of any note, who 
wrote in English before the time of Chaucer — are saved from 
being contemptible, simply by their antiquity. It was Chaucer 
who rescued our noble language from chaos; and the instrument 
which he used was the same that has in all ages been the founder 
and polisher of every written language, Poetry. Anterior to his 
time, the poetry of the country or its miserable substitute, was in 
the keeping of the clergy, the heralds, and the minstrels. The 
two latter classes were uneducated, save for the duties and re- 
quirement of war, tournaments, and of feastings : while the 
education of the former was as inflexible as an armor of sheet- 
iron, and ran into the channels of legendary and saintly lore, or 
of quaint superstitions, many of which were also conveyed in a 
foreign tongue. The classics of Greece and Rome were little 
known, and so were the Rhapsodists and Romancers of more 
southern and polished climes. The language was barren and 
uncouth, and a savage and uncultivated taste was as characteristic 
of a magnificent but semi-barbarous court, as it was of the com- 
mon people. The only " amusement which deserved the name 
of literary, was old metrical and prose romances, and what had 
yet much less merit, and more absurdity, wild and unintelligible 
books of prophecies in rhyme." ^ In the formal and precise lan- 
guage of Dr. Johnson, " Chaucer was the first English versifier 
who wrote poetically." He was, we may say, the first English 
poet " who came with a tale which held children from play, and 
old men from the chimney corner." ^ He was the first man of 
the world, the first educated English layman whose genius spurned 
the fetters which bound his class, and who dared to lay his pro- 
fane hands upon the altar of Poesy. He was, to use the glowing 
language of one not given to praise unduly — the poet Wordsworth 
— " The Morning Star of English Poetry," and " ever to be 

^ Tytler's Univ. Hist. « Sir Philip Sidney. 

3 



CHAUCER. 



honored." Nor was Wordsworth the only poet who bowed before 
the majesty of Chaucer's hoar antiquity. Spenser, the first after 
him whose genius could stand alone, reverently hails him as the 
" well of English undefiled," and more than once intimates that 
the " soul of Chaucer was transfused into his body ; and that he 
was begotten by him two hundred years after his decease." 
Indeed, he was so studious an admirer of Chancer, that he offended 
the taste of the critics of his time by his frequent and plenteous 
copyings, and was thus curtly defended from them by quaint and 
sturdy old Fuller : " The many Chaucerisms used (for I could 
not say affected) by him, are thought by the ignorant to be 
blemishes, but known by the learned to be beauties to his book." ^ 
In the estimation of Dryden, also, whose opinion was the result 
of a view of the rapid growth of poetry immediately after the 
reign of Richard II., Chaucer was the " Father of English Poe- 
try," and as such, " was held by him in the same degree of vene- 
ration as the Grecians held Homer." In his Preface to the 
Fables, he adds further, " I prefer in Chaucer, far above all his 
other stories, the noble poem of Palamon and Arcite, which is of 
the epic kind, and perhaps not much inferior to the Iliad or 
Eneid : the story is more pleasing than either of them, the man- 
ner as perfect, and the disposition full as artful." And again, 
in his epistle to the Duchess of Ormond, he says, 

" The bard who first adorned our native tongue 
Tuned to his British lyre this ancient song : 
Which Homer might without a blush rehearse, 
And leaves a doubtful palm in Virgil's verse. 
Pie matched their beauties, where they most excel ; 
Of love sung better, and of arms as well." 

" But," it may be objected, " Chaucer was chiefly a translator, 
and lacked the firsi requisite of a great poet, Invention." A 

^ Worthies of England. 



GRADE AND QUALITY OF HIS GENIUS. 27 

sufficient reply t^ the latter part of this objection is, that if a 
poet's indebtedness to another for the story or vehicle of his fan- 
cies is incompatible with his possession of the "creative faculty," 
then Chaucer must fall ; but his ruin will be shared by Shaks- 
peare and Milton. By a similar argument, this precious en- 
dowment, the creative faculty, may be denied to any poet who 
applies the mechanism invented by another, as the vehicle of his 
fancies ; and consequently, whosoever writes an epic, must of 
necessity be inferior to its great inventor. So also, the rank of 
the poets, whose pathetic stories of Ugolino's and of Lear's suf- 
ferings excite our deep sympathies and anguish, will be made 
subservient to the crude historians whose homely narratives of 
barren facts they embodied and transfigured. The error of 
those friendly to this theory lies in the notion they entertain, 
that the " creative genius " of a poet is of the same kind with 
that tremendous power which the Deity exercised when 

" The Heav'ns and Earth 
Rose out of Chaos j" Milton. 

and that, like the Deity, out of nothing the poet evokes his sub- 
lime fancies. Divine, however, as the poet's calling is, greatly 
inferior to this is the degree of his power. He more nearly 
resembles the architect who, by his genius, creates from rude 
and shapeless stones a temple whose awful majesty shall com- 
mand the veneration of ages ; or the sculptor, under whose 
hands the dull and senseless block shall become instinct with life 
and beauty — principles which before had no existence there. 
Like these, the poet broods over the chaos of nature, and gives 
birth to conceptions that men. shall "never willingly let die." 
It is useless, however, to discuss an objection which is as unsound 
as the collateral charge is untrue. For, an appeal to his works, 
and a comparison of them with the imitations or translations by 
Dryden, Pope, Wordsworth and others, will fully establish Chau- 



28 CHAUCER. 



cer's claim to originality; while the most rjjalevolent objector 
against his genius must confess that as a translator he has been 
rarely equalled. Indeed, critics generally agree, that so many 
new beauties are made apparent ; so much eloquent simplicity, 
so much tenderness and manliness, are added by his translations, 
to the best works of the greatest poets of his age, that they bear 
all the air of originality, and surpass the models that he emulated. 
It would seem, then, that when Chaucer appeared, it was 
" with all the lustre and dignity of a true poet, in an age which 
compelled him to struggle with a barbarous language and a na- 
tional want of taste.'" That he 

" In times 
Dark and untaught, began with charming verse 
To tame the rudeness of his native land ;" Akenside. 

and that his efforts first constructed a taste by which he and all 
subsequent poets were to be adjudged and enjoyed, and his ge- 
nius aroused the glorious tide of Song, which still swells and 
surges like the billows of the great deep. That his powerful 
example gave life and vigor to Gower and Douglas, and succes- 
sively thereafter to Lydgate,^ to Surrey, and to Wyatt, until he 
was reproduced in Spenser. And that the voice of Genius has 
ever delighted to honor him with the sober reverence due to a 
parent. What then shall we conclude to be the grade and 
quality of his genius ? 

If results are ever to be considered the measure of a cause — if 
the strength and skill of a warrior or a statesman are to be ascer- 
tained from the nature of the difficulty overcome, of the conquest 
gained, or of the good accomplished ; if a more august fame is 
the award of those brave men who spurn opposing circumstances, 
and in their spite attain a goal, which few dare hope to reach 

^ See Appendix B. 



GRADE AND QUALITY OF HIS GENIUS. 29 

with all their powerful aid ; then, surely, we may claim for 
Chaucer a proud place in the Temple of Fame. 

It is agreed that he who combines simplicity of diction and of 
thought with an earnest and truthful spirit — who possesses a 
grand but healthy imagination, and a lively fancy — whose power 
of observation is seconded by his faculty of description — whose 
sensibility is as delicate as his judgment is manly and profound; 
and whose command of language is commensurate with the un- 
clogged exhibition of these several faculties, enabling him to con- 
trol the humors, the emotions, and even the affections and pas- 
sions of his readers — it is agreed that such an one deservedly 
ranks among the first of poets. And such was Chaucer, who 
everywhere is vigorous and manly ; frank, bold and truthful ; 
sublimely imaginative, yet sternly simple ; fanciful, yet direct ; 
eminently a master of the pathetic, yet humorous and gleesome ; 
while his descriptive powers, whether of a lark, a daisy, a May 
morning, or of the " gloomy sanctuary of the tremendous tem- 
pie of Mars," are unsurpassed, perhaps unequalled. We there- 
fore affirm — and we shelter ourselves under the authority we 
have adduced, the intrinsic merits of his writings, and their 
powerful effects upon literature — that Chaucer must be classed 
with Homer and Dante, with Spenser, Shakspeare and Milton. 



30 CHAUCER. 



CHAPTER III. 

Characteristics of Chaucer's Poetry— His estimate of Woman, and fondness 
for birds, flowers and rural scenery— Control over language — Omission 
to celebrate the great personages of his age and nation. 

An examination into the characteristics of Chaucer's Poetical 
Compositions will not be inappropriate to the plan of this work ; 
nor will the inquiry prove uninteresting, since his most beautiful 
creations are as much fruits of a necessity of his nature, as the 
full-grown oak is of the planted acorn ; and their exhibition is 
but a more thorough introduction to the man, and will lead to a 
more perfect acquaintance with his character and feelings. 

And first, we notice, that he excelled all who passed before or 
who have followed after him — save only Shakspeare — in his chi- 
valrous estimate of, and ability to portray, feminine loveliness, deli- 
cacy and modesty ; and in his unbounded trust in woman's vir- 
tue and truth. Dante's Beatrice and the Laura of Petrarch are 
beauteous visions, but yet are not invested with the same flesh- 
and-blood attributes and affections, which distinguish Chaucer's 
and Shakspeare's portraitures. And Portia, Rosalind and Imo- 
gen — the most perfect of Shakspeare's women — do not exalt our 
love for woman, do not challenge for her implicit faith, unwaver- 
ing trust and ardent affection, any more powerfully than Chaucer's 
numberless paintings. Without pausing to comment upon his 
truthful delineation of womanly virtue in the character of Dori- 
gene; or his more impassioned description of Griselda's conju- 
gal affection and faith ; where shall we find a picture so digni- 
fied, and yet so subdued and piteous as that of Custance when 



CHARACTERISTICS OF HIS POETRY. 31 



she is led " witli a dedly pale face " to what seemed a lingering 
and horrible death : — 

" Hire little child lay weeping in hire arm, 
And kneeling, pitously to him she said, 
Pees, little son, I wol do thee no harm ! 
With that, her coverchief off hire head she braid' 
And over his little eyen she it laid, 
And in hire arm she lulleth it full fast. 
And into the heaven hire eyen up she cast." 

And again ; what can be more simple and delicate than the des- 
cription of Griselda as she sat spinning on the field while she 
tended her sheep, or as she plucked " worts and other herbes " 
on her homeward way at even ; or what can be conceived more 
submissively filial than the picture of this " tendre mayden " as 

" In great reverence and charitee 
Hire olde poure fader fostered she. 
And ay^ she kept her fader's life on loft 
With every obeisance and diligence 
That child may don to fadre's reverence ?" 

Or, where are descriptions of womanly beauty more luxuriant and 
blooming; as fresh, healthful and buoyant, and yet so simple and 
pure ; so wnangelic, so perfectly human, and worthy of the affec- 
tion as well as homage of a manly heart, as our glimpses of the 
golden-haired Emilie in the garden, who 

" fairer was to seen 
Than is the lily on his stalke greene ?" 

or of that Roman's daughter who was 

" faire in excellent beautee 
Aboven any wight that man may see ?" 

^ Tore. ^ Always. 



32 CHAUCER. 



It is worthy of remark that Chaucer's descriptions of woman 
never invest her with any Juno-like attributes ; but she is ever 
as mild, patient and submissive, as she is beauteous ; and is al- 
ways accompanied and adorned by the fireside virtues. This 
is particularly noteworthy, because the sentiment was far in ad- 
vance of the age, which delighted to worship woman sparkling 
with imperious beauty, and elated by the triumph of her con- 
quests ; or gracing the tournament with her presence, and even 
partaking with man the fierce enthusiasm of battle. Such was 
not Chaucer's woman. Nor was she the houris of a Mahomme- 
dan's paradise, much less the ideal abstraction of Spenser's beau- 
tiful allegories. She was the sharer of man's joys, the minister 
to his comfort, the partner of his griefs, 

" A creature not too bright or good 
For human nature's daily food 
For transient sorrows, simple wiles. 
Praise, love, blame, kisses, tears and smiles."^ 

Although, throughout Chaucer's writings, it is plainly observa- 
ble that he placed a high estimate upon woman's nature in the 
points of virtue and purity ; yet in his Miller's and Wife of Bath's 
tales, and in some other compositions, he describes with apparent 
zest, women who are far from virtuous, who are indeed libidinous 
and adulterous. Without being able or willing entirely to defend 
his election of a plan, which necessarily drew these characters 
into the action of his plots, it still should be remembered that he 
pictured the age in which he lived — perhaps all too truly in the 
particulars of its lewdness and licentiousness ; and that when he 
entered into the person of each fancied narrator, he possessed the 
wizard power of assuming for the time his character, even to the 
most trivial peculiarity. We have no right to assume that there- 

* Wordsworth. 



HIS ESTIMATE OF WOMAN. 33 

fore he himself was lewd and licentious, or that he was an unbe- 
liever in woman's faith and chastity. On the contrary, these 
comparisons serve at once to engender disgust for the depravity 
which they describe, and by their powerful contrast with the 
purer examples of Custance, Griselda and Lucrece, to heighten 
■our admiration for their virtuous beauty. Nor should we forget 
— to use •the language of the young gentleman before quoted — 
that though "the uncleanness of Chaucer's age has left a smooch 
here and there upon his poems, yet it is only in the margin, and 
may be torn off without injury to the text."' 

The same faculty that observed and prized in woman the 
beauteous virtues of modesty and simplicity, keenly perceived 
her foibles and affectations ; those petty vices, which appearing in 
individuals, diminish the lustre of the class to which they belong. 
How perfect and yet how gentle, is Chaucer's ridicule of that 
artificiality of her nature, which caused the " tender-hearted 
Prioresse " to dignify trivialties and formalities into a high im- 
portance, at the expense of real perfections and accomplishments; 
and which led her to lavish upon insignificant objects, affections 
that are based upon deep and abiding principles of humanity. 
This was a ready mean for lowering and degrading those holy 
sympathies of our nature which can only be shared with our 
fellow- mortals, and the desecration of them cannot be atoned for 
by the most exquisite kindness to the lower creation. This 
Chaucer saw, and he limned the vice so truthfully that we of 
this remote generation and New World are profited and instruct- 
ed thereby. Our language in reference to this good lady's fail- 
ings sounds harsh beside the poet's gentle correction; but it was 
not in the nature of the creator of Custance and Griselda to deal 
otherwise than most tenderly with woman. Indeed, his sharpest 
corrections of the sex fall upon it like the pattering May-shower 
upon a rose, serving to cleanse and purify it from the dross and 

* Lowell's Conversations. 
3* 



34 CHAUCER. 



dirt which disfigure it, and leaving it more fragrant than before. 
His description of the good Prioresse and her foibles serves to 
contrast with the nobler characters we have just considered, and 
points out their virtues no less strongly than the coarser pictures 
of the " gap-toothed Wife of Bath " or the unfaithful Alison. 

" At mete was she well ytaught withall ; 
She lette no morsel from her lippes falle, 
Ne wette hire fingers in hire sauce depe. 
Well coude she carry a morsel and wel kepe 
That no drop ne fell upon hir brest. 
In curt^e was sett full much hire lest.^ 
Hire over lippe wiped she so clene, 
That in hire cuppe was no farthing scene 
Of grese, when she dronken had her draught. 
But for to speken of hire conscience, 
She was so charitable and pitous, 
She wolde wepe if that she saw a mouse 
Caughte in a trap, if it were dede or bled. 
Of smalle houndes hadde she, that she fedde 
With rested flesh, and milk and wasteP brede. 
But sore wept she if one of hem was dedde, 
Or if men smote it with a yerde smerte : 
And all was conscience and tendre heart." 

Entirely congenial with Chaucer's admiration and love of 
woman, was his passionate fondness for birds, and flowers, and 
rural life. Although he has described with terrific ability, scenes 
which awaken the fiercer passions of the human heart, causing it 
like his own war-horse " to stert like the fire ;" yet his imagination 
— "taking its hue perhaps from his affections — dwelt fondly upon 
scenes of rural enjoyment and innocence ; and' we gladly linger 

> Pleasure. 2 Fine. 



FONDNESS FOR RURAL SCENERY. 35 

with him as he lounges upon the " meadowes softe, sweet, and 
grene ;" or, under a tree beside a well, listen with him to the 
rippling of waters and the melody of birds, and watch the gam- 
bols of " the prettie conies," 

" The dredeful roe, the buck, the hart, the hind, 
Squirrels and beastes small of gentil kind." 

There is no poet — certainly no English poet — at all comparable 
with him in the enthusiastic love of tliese beautiful children of 
nature, birds and flowers ; and in all his writings scarcely a 
description of rural scenery occurs from which all are omitted. 
And we have his own confession that, when "sickness sate on 
his herte" he sought relief by rising anon and going 



Into the woodes, to hear the birdes sing ;" 



or by rambling through fields whose " flowers of many diverse 
hues spread their leaves against the sun," and sparkled like silver 
with dew that was " as any baume sweet." 

Not less enthusiastic was his love of Spring, and the sportful 
pleasures tliat genial season ushered in. His writings may be 
called a continuous poem in praise of Woman, Flowers, Rural 
pleasures and the Spring. And if bold Robin Hood had lived in 
his time we might easily have fancied them to be warm friends : 
for Chaucer's love of sylvan sports, and his intimacy with the 
denizens of the woods, was entirely in Robin's own vein : nor do 
we recollect to have seen anywhere so perfect and so sprightly a 
description of the bold forester, as is limned from the life in Chau- 
cer's portrait of the Squier's Yeman : 

" He was cladde in cote and bode of grene, 
A sheaf of peacock arwes bright and kene 



CHAUCER. 



Under his belt he bare full thriftily. 
Well coude he dress his takle yemanly : 
His arwes drooped not with featheres lowe, 
And in his hand he bore a mighty bowe. 

A not-hed hadde he, with a brown visage, 
Of woodcraft coud' he well all the usage. 
A cristofre,^ on his brest of silver shene. 
An horn he bare, the baudrik was of grene ; 
A forster was he sothly as I gesse." 

Such is the magic of Chaucer's descriptions of Spring, that 
even in mid-winter we dream not of the sharp, biting cold, and of 
fires ; but fancy ourselves exulting in the bright and cheering 
sunshine, or breathing in the pure, fresh air, and hearkening to 
the singing of birds, the clucking of fowls, the lowing of cattle, 
and the teeming hum of a new insect creation ; while our sky is 
filled with soft, fleecy clouds, such as the gentle Spring ever 
brings with it. 

As the first intellectual effort of Man in Paradise was to give 
names to those creations of the Deity by which he found himself 
surrounded; thus figuring forth by language his ideas of their 
characters and matures : so the first and chief delight of the ear- 
liest great poets of every country has been to describe such 
operations of nature as are most obvious and striking. They 
have chosen to deal with effects rather than speculate upon their 
causes. And, as their minds are not fatigued by searching out 
rules and models ; or in studying the ornaments of composition, 
and observing the practices and precedent of their predecessors ; 
their descriptions are signalized by simplicity, fidelity and enthu- 
siasm. Each succeeding generation chronicles a further depart- 
ure from those necessary accompaniments of high poetical 
endowment : and although refined minds will never fail to appre- 

» Knew. 

2 An image of St Christopher, who was the patron of field sports. 



FONDNESS FOR RURAL SCENERY. 



ciate the beauties and point out the features of these requisites; 
yet at each step of advancement in the rules of critical analysis, 
and the refinement of intellectual art, new and insurmountable 
barriers raise. To express it in a Poet's phrase, 



Invention, Nature's child, flees step-dame Study's blows. 



jji 



We know no better illustration of this observation, than is afford- 
ed by a comparison of Wordsworth — the most natural, if not the 
greatest poet of this age, and yet the most artistical — with Chau- 
cer. Both are fond of describing similar natural scenes, and are 
intent upon discerning beauty in identical objects. But how 
widely does the modern poet depart from the ancient ! The one 
seems to be obsequiously obeying an imposed duty, or fulfilling a 
necessity of the poet's calling ; the other carols as blithely and 
heartily as his own birds. One never rejects a phrase or an idea 
because it is homely : he cares not if it happen to outrage the 
ear or disturb the serenity of the over-sensitive. The other picks 
iiis words and phrases as daintily as the perfumed and jewelled 
exquisite does his way through a muddy street. 

This train of thought has been suggested by Chaucer's fond- 
ness for detailing morning scenes ; and by his frequent and en- 
thusiastic descriptions of the joyous walks that ushered in the 
sunrise. His love of these walks rivalled his love of woman ; 
and well might he love them, for he tells us that " the blissful 
sight " of sunrise as he " walked on the mead, softened all his 
sorrows." Spenser, also, was fond of describing sunrise, but 
plainly builds upon Chaucer's original, wheresoever he is truly 
English. Moreover, he labors so heavily with figures introduced 
from the Greek and Latin classics that, in these particular descrip- 
tions, our attention is employed upon them, at the expense of the 

* Sir Philip Sidney. 



CHAUCER. 



object he may be professedly portraying. For the purpose of 
contrasting these two builders of English Song, we subjoin ex- 
amples from both. The following is a celebrated description of 
sunrise from Spenser : 

" The joyous day gan early to appear, 
And fair Aurora from the dewy bed 
Of aged Tithon, gan herself to rear. 
With rosie cheeks, for shame all blushing red ; 
Her golden locks for haste were loosely shed 
About her ears, when Una her did mark 
Climb to the charet all with flowers spread. 
From Heaven high to chase the cheerless dark ; 
With merry note, her loud salutes the mountain lark.'" 

Now hearken to Chaucer : 

" The busy lark, the messenger of day, 
Saluteth in her song the morrow gray ; 
And fiery Phoebus riseth up so bright 
That all the orient laugheth at the sight, 
And with his streams he drieth in the greves^ 
The silver droppes hanging on the leaves." 

These paintings, so freely scattered over Chaucer's works — and 
which without being disjointed from his narratives are distin- 
guishable from them, and deserve to rank by themselves as distinct 
and perfect compositions — are worthy of a critical examination. 
For although this high art is no uncommon attendant upon the gift of 
song, and must, indeed, be possessed by all true poets ; yet Chaucer's 
paintings demand particular attention from the singular rapidity, 
brevity and fidelity of their execution, and the vividness of their 

* Faery Queen, book i., canto ii., stanza 51. ^ Groves. 



VIVIDNESS OF HIS DESCRIPTIONS. 30 

coloring. Few poets describe so accurately and fully, with so 
few touches. Timothcus-likc, liis 

" flying fingers touched the lyre," 



and with the careless power of a master he wielded language to 
the expression of his I'ich fancies. Instead of engendering a 
weak climax by servilely recounting the details of a subject — its 
conception, birth and gradual growth, until it safely reaches a 
logical perfection — he seizes it at the moment of its highest com- 
pleteness, and by a peculiar faculty of description he causes to 
flash upon our fancy — as vividly as if he had portrayed it all 
— its whole progress from the faint beginning to its ripened 
glory. In his descriptions of sunrise, for instance, as in the one 
we have been considering, he does not, like Spenser, perplex us 
with a display of classical lore, in a merciless pursuit of the 
allegorical connexion between Aurora and Tithon. He declines 
to lessen the majestic beauty of this glorious sight by likening it 
to the uprising of a youthful maiden from the spiritless embraces 
of an imbecile old man. On the contrary, by a few simple 
touches he plants us in the midst of natural scenery where, as 
the grey morning breaks upon us, we are greeted by the gay 
song of the lark ; we see the fresh and sparkling dew hanging 
from leaf and flower ; and we behold the misty vapors of morn- 
ing rising like an incense " with many .a wholesome air" from 
the joyous earth. 

But when we speak of Chaucer's paintings, we more espe- 
cially allude to his portraitures of individuals of the human 
kind — including his various impersonations — and of the nobler 
classes of the inferior animal creation, or to his condensed 
descriptions of natural objects. And we cannot refrain from 
expressing the belief that our painters, as well as poets, have 
neglected to study them : else, why is his matchless gallery of 



40 CHAUCER. 



paintings unappropriated, when it contains landscapes as lovely 
as ever eyes dwelt upon ; barnyard and rural pictures, where- 
with many a heart might be gladdened ; and groupings of god- 
like forms and countenances, worthy to lead the conception of 
the most rapt painter. Nor is this wonderful collection any less 
remarkable for its diversity than it is for its excellence, for here 
are heroes than whom none are more majestic, women than 
whom none are lovelier ; here are sights of nature in her gayest 
and mildest moods, and of the fierce strife of battle ; here are 
portly monks and smiling nuns; choleric stewards and burly 
millers ; mumbling friars, lecherous clerks, cuckolded husbands 
and gamesome wives. All this have we disposed and arranged 
into multiform combinations by sublime genius, and yet the great 
world wags on and heeds them not. 

It is a curious circumstance, when the chivalrous bias of his 
nature is considered, that throughout Chaucer's voluminous 
writings, scarcely anything is said of the throng of fair and vir- 
tuous women that ornamented the brilliant court of Edward the 
Third and his lovely Queen Philippa ; or of the host of great 
and gallant men who swelled the armies of their sovereign, and 
made his arms invincible. In the same age with the poet, and 
in his own land, lived warriors with whose exploits all Europe 
resounded, and which even vied with the fabulous deeds of 
Arthur and his round table knights. It was a period prolific in 
heroes, among whom none were bolder or more courageous than 
his own countrymen, or more signalized by the virtues of gentle- 
ness, honor and generosity. The great battles of Cressy and 
Poitiers had just been fought, and Europe yet rang with the 
fame of the victors' prowess, and the story of their knightly 
courtesy. But Chaucer marks them not. We listen, in silent 
expectation, to hear a tide of exulting song poured from the 
bounding strings of his harp, as our imagination pictures him, 



HIS PREFERENCE OF RURAL THEMES. 41 

" With all a poet's ecstasy 
111 varying cadence, soft or strong, 
S\veej)ing the sounding chords along;" 

But the vision fades away ; his strings are mute ; the harp 

"is dumb 
That knew all tones of passion." 

And while we sit musing, Fancy again claims its prerogative ; we 
see the Black Prince and his brother, scar~^-worn John of Gaunt, 
the chivalrous De Mauny, the heroic Chandois and the brave 
Derby, stalk mournfully past, seeming to reproach the poet who 
refused to celebrate their fame. 

It is less to be wondered at that he refrained from celebrating 
the achievements of King Edward himself, or of his brother the 
Duke of Lancaster, for the pride of Chaucer was of that noble 
kind which disdained adulation. But it is truly singular, that 
a poet, whose pictures of women are so exquisitely tender and 
delicate, should neglect to do homnge to the matchless purity of 
Queen Philippa, whom all hearts loved; and who was of such. 
" distinguished beauty that the statuaries of those days used to 
make her their model for images of the Virgin Mary, who was 
always figured young and beautiful."^ 

If we further consider, that Chaucer was a poet who delighted 
to describe splendid pageants and processions ; that he was him- 
self a favorite inmate of a court, which was occupied by frequent 
spectacles of tournaments and martial exercises, and which has 
been justly named "the theatre of romantic elegance;" that 
King Edward was from inclination and policy the enthusiastic 
patron of chivalry and romance ; and that he had just instituted 
the order of the blue garter out of his love for the virtuous 

^ Hearne. 



42 CHAUCER. 



Countess of Salisbury, in the midst of feasts and joustings that 
had been proclaimed throughout Europe ; and which were graced 
by the beautiful and brave of France, Scotland, and Brabant ; 
of Germany, Hainault and Burgundy. If we pause over these 
facts, it will also appear remarkable, that upon these rich themes 
— which only required a faithful description to have rendered them 
as deeply interesting as the most romantic fiction — Chaucer utters 
no sound. And we vent our disappointment by censuring him 
because he did not celebrate such noble deeds and brilliant scenes 
with the same magic pen that transferred to immortality the 
simple habits and customs of his countrymen, and the rural 
scenery of his native land ; with the melody of its birds, the frar 
grance of its flowers, its cool and limpid waters, its balmy morn- 
ings, and its gladsome months of May. 



RESEMBLANCES OF POETS. 43 



CHAPTER IV. 

Resemblances of Poets — Chaucei- and Spenser. — Chaucer and his Transla- 
tors and Imitators. — Specimens of Dryden's powers as a Translator of 
Chaucer. 

To trace the imitations of poets, or their casual resemblances to 
one another, would be an occupation far from uninteresting. Not 
that we could, for an instant, countenance that paltry, envious 
and dastardly disposition which charges wilful plagiarism upon 
all resemblances. But the speculation would be curious, as ex- 
hibiting to us identical subjects variously considered by master 
minds ; would present to our view, each new beauty or modifica- 
tion of beauty, at the moment of its engraftment ; would enable 
us to institute comparisons between the various artists, and to 
pronounce intelligently upon the different degrees of skill and 
ingenuity, or of freshness and originality displayed ; and would, 
finally, cause us to award to each author, with some precision, 
his particular rank, and yield to him his lawful share of our 
homage and veneration. It would be delightful and instructive, 
for instance, to trace the strong and terse thoughts of Chaucer, 
through the accumulating dust and rubbish of intervening poets, 
till their rough and manly quaintness are exchanged for Spenser's 
dreamy visions and daring metaphors, or for Shakspeare's fluent 
and almost inspired reasonings : and thence again, to witness it, 
like a pure stream, sink into the earth and roll on, hidden from 
ordinary sight, till in due time it bursts forth sparkling with the 
stately and awful imagery of Milton, the elegant finish of Dryden, 
or the quiet ease and dignity of Wordsworth. 



44 CHAUCER. 



Such a study would prove no less absorbing to the philosopher 
than genial to the poet ; and if systematically pursued would 
challenge the attention of both. Without daring to lay claim to 
either of these august titles, the writer of these pages has ventured 
to jot down a few resemblances, which, while they were yet freshly 
perceived, occasioned throes of thought that have since been 
rendered doubly pleasant, by the charm which memory ever 
throws around its objects. 

Those poets who follow nature most closely ; who quell not, 
but mark the impulses of their own hearts ; and who narrowly 
study their fellow-men in the varied ramifications of their habits, 
passions and affections ; who endorse upon a broad and generous 
fund of common sense (that best abused of all terms), the higher 
and more attractive attributes of fancy and imagination, and who 
spurn the tyrannical guidance of custom, disdaining the manifold 
trickeries to which the poetical mob resorts ; will necessarily 
possess the highest originality, and the most enduring power ; 
and be the wells from whence their more artistical and perhaps 
refined brethren will draw inspiration. To the former, these 
■ bear — in theory, as certainly as they do in chronological fact — 
the same relation as Columbus does to modern navigators. They 
are the gifted discoverers of new regions in the world of thought, 
which a later, more polished, and more scientific generation shall 
explore, and cultivate, and beautify. We do not mean to assert 
the eminently fallacious dogma, that Nature — which is the soul 
of Poetry — can only be found in a state of semi-barbarism, or 
amid scenes of rural or pastoral life. For it dwells no less con- 
stantly in the great city, the populous mart, and the most 
advanced stages of society, than in the secluded forest or the 
earliest youth of a nation. The inmates of the stateliest palace 
are as truly her children, and bow to the supremacy of her laws 
no less reverentially than their humbler brethren of the field or 
mountain. The gilded hall and the whitewashed cot, both are 



THE OMNIPRESENCE OF NATURE. 45 



her temples. Pride is no less natural than humility. But it is 
in the crowded city that nature may be discerned in her noblest 
form, arrayed in a vesture of many hues. It is there that the 
common charities of man, and his as common miseries, whatso- 
ever lightens, and whatsoever oppresses, or that in any manner 
concerns the noblest work of a Divine hand — all cluster. There 
the cheerful and strong voice of labor may be heard commingled 
with the sharp cry of passion or of pain, and their sad accom- 
paniments of sobs and tears. There exuberant health leaps and 
sings hard by the wretched victim of disease, and the feeble moan of 
famine ascends beside the mansion of wealth and plenty. There 
the awful imprecation and the devout prayer are wafted to the 
presence of Omnipotence by the same breath of air ; while, re- 
gardless alike of the cry of the joyous or the despairing, heedless 
of merriment or of woe — the steady, monotonous hum of the base 
and greedy followers of pleasure and mammon, rolls up to the 
glorious heaven, and obscures it with an atmosphere as dim and 
murky as Milton's hell. Flere, too, the poet may see the hideous 
and loathsome figure of vice, and the spotless and beauteous form 
of mercy, of fierce hate and bountiful love, in such artistical 
juxtaposition as only a Divine Artist could order and execute. 
Here he may dream dreams and see visions, that shall be a fore- 
sight of that better bliss which another life promises ; or he may 
behold models from whence to draw the black and fiendish out- 
lines of a damned world. In fine ; here that wonderful com- 
plexity, the heart of man, ebbs and flows, and pours in rapid 
torrents its flood of hopes and fears, of joy, anguish and remorse. 
Although we thus perceive that nature is as actually present 
in the thronged city and the most advanced stage of society, as 
it is in the earlier periods of social being ; yet it is, nevertheless, 
undoubtedly true that, as refinement and civilisation, with their 
handmaidens the arts and sciences, commerce and manufactures, 
advance to perfection, the mind of Man is oppressed, his imagina- 



46 CHAUCER. 



tion is fettered, his fancy becomes bewildered and his attention 
distracted, by the countless variety of objects which his position 
in the world's life forces upon him. His reason, like the 
muscles of his body, is enlarged and developed by constant use ; 
and it encroaches upon the other faculties, which it also disdains, 
and reaches a monstrous growth, while they either recede, or at 
best remain stationary. And thus the poetic faculty oftentimes 
lies buried or hindered. 

Occasionally, however, in the course of a nation's existence, 
and contrasting with the surrounding barrenness, there well forth 
from the arid soil, fresh and cooling springs of poesy, rejoicing 
the heart with their invigorating waters, and delighting the eye 
with their shadowed and verdant banks. Such were Chaucer, 
Shakspeare, and Milton ; founts which have gladdened the spirits 
of thousands, and at which, throughout all time, genius will delight 
to drink inspiration. 

Spenser, whom we have omitted from this list, was not the true 
child of nature that his master, Chaucer, was. It is true that his 
verse is more accurate and his rhyme more perfect ; but he has 
neither contrived to excite for his characters our aifection and 
concern, nor to awaken our dislike and disgust. His descriptions 
are beautiful or grand ; and his metaphors and allegories are the 
legitimate offspring of an imagination at once restless and 
gorgeous. But in his portraitures of individual and real charac- 
ters he is so often tamely classical, that they do not excite in the 
breasts of his readers any higher emotion than that of admiration ; 
excepting always, however, his touching description of the desolate 
Una and her faithful Lion. His personifications, also, are usually 
so overladen with images, his comparisons so wire-drawn and 
redundant, that they are supernatural and tiresome. 1 His men 
and women belong to no age or nation, and do not describe any 
class. Hence, necessarily, his writings are not imbued with that 
strong dramatic interest which particularly signalizes Chaucer's 



i 



CHAUCER AND SPENSER. 47 



compositions, and which is inseparahlc from the highest poetic 
efforts. It is this quality which lends to Chaucer's portraitures 
of naen, or of the passions, and other attributes of humanity, the 
strongest individual concern. He describes an abstraction as 
though it were a reality, and makes it as tangible as if it were 
possessed of physical properties. Thus, in his descriptions of 
Richesse, Mirth, Hate, Beauty, Gladnesse, and Venus, he invests 
each of them with an air of humanity and an individuality that 
challenge emotions as various as the characters introduced, and 
we admire or dislike, pity or love, at his bidding. "In arranging 
themselves under his dominion, these abstract ideas of unsubstan- 
tial existence take a visible and substantial form, distinguished by 
the attributes, the insignia, and the effects of Reality."^ 

Without pausing to examine the servile and almost numberless 
imitations of Chaucer, by his immediate followers, Lydgate and 
Occleve, or the frequent resemblances that occur in Douglas, 
and at a still later and more auspicious period were apparent in 
the writings of Surrey and Sidney ; we will, for a short space 
longer, linger with the great poet who is also justly esteemed one 
of the principal landmarks of our literature. 

Glimmering through Spenser's tortuous and inverted style, and 
sparkling amid the complicated and continuous drove of meta- 
phors, which both beautify and deform his writings, we however 
find frequent resemblances to Chaucer ; especially in his paint- 
ings of imaginary characters. In the limnings of Avarice and 
Envy, whom he introduces in the guise of " sage Counsellors" to 
Pride, Spenser not only maintains a strong general resemblance 
to Chaucer's powerful paintings of these characters, but he ob- 
serves the same order and preserves the same relative depend- 
ence of one upon the other. Moreover, both poets strive to create 
a disgust for these base personages by the same instrumentality, 
namely, by clothing them with filthy rags and an " evil hued" 

* Adapted from Roscoe's Lorenzo De Medici, Vol. i., p 234. 



48 CHAUCER. 



and sallow skin, and by causing them to elect a craving and 
hungry belly, rather than part with their ill- begotten wealth. 
We award the superiority, in this instance, to Chaucer's descrip- 
tions, not merely from their having been the originals from which 
Spenser drew, but because they are also more fully detailed with- 
out degenerating into the catalogue and inventory style ; and are 
more boldly conceived and executed.^ 

Another striking resemblance to Chaucer may be observed in 
Spenser's figure of Danger. These closely approximate ; and 
as the passage illustrating the likeness is brief, we quote from the 
two poets, commencing with Spenser. 

" With him went Danger, cloth'd in ragged weed 
Made of beare's skin, that him more dredeful made : 
Yet his own face was dredeful, nor did need 
Strange horror to deform his griesly shade. '"^ 

This is seemingly epitomized from Chaucer's more detailed 
description : 

" With that anon, out stert Dangere 
Out of the place where he was hid : 
Full grete he was and black of hewe, 
Sturdy and hideous, who so him knewe ; 
Like sharp urchons*" his haire was grow 
His eyen red and sparkling as the fire glow, 
His nose frounced full kyked* stood. 
And he come criand as he were wood."^ 

^ Compare F. Queen, book I., canto iv., st. 27, 28, and 29, with Rom. 
Ros., vs. 209 to 300. 

2 F. Queen, book III., Canto xii., st. 11. 

3 Hedgehog bristles. * Crooked. ^ Mad. 



CHAUCER AND SPENSER. 49 



Spenser's frequent resemblances to Chaucer shadow forth the 
high reverence which he felt for him ; and suggest the pleasant 
fancy, that while his own immortal progeny was being ushered 
into life, he was ministered to by the ripe thoughtfulness and gor- 
geous imaginings of the elder poet. It is right pleasant thus then 
to fancy the poet of Queen Elizabeth's time bending, studiously 
and reverentially, over the massive, and even then antiquated, 
black-letter folios of his great master of a less refined period ; 
and signalizing and perpetuating his homage of admiration by em- 
balming their contents in his own sweet verse. It is delightful 
thus to witness the accord of noble minds, and to note their ge- 
nerous strife for the purest fame. Nor indeed do we merely fancy 
pleasant dreams ; for how else shall we account for the coinci- 
dence furnished by the following lines from Chaucer's Franke- 
lein's Tale, 

" Love wol not be constrained by maistrie, 
When maistrie cometh, the God of love anone, 
Beteth his wings, and farewell, he is gone ;" 

and these from Spenser's Fairy Queen ? 

" Ne may love be compelled by mastery ; 
For soon as maistre comes sweet love anone 
Takes to his nimble wings and soon away is gone :"' 

Unless indeed, we suppose, what is yet more flattering to Chau- 
cer, that Spenser drew it and its numerous companions from the 
treasure house of his memory. 

Although much force is due to the argument that two minds 
of powerful and poetic mould must arrive at similarity of thought 

* F. Queen, book III,, canto i., st. 25. 
4 



50 CHAUCER. 



and expression when occupied upon the same point ; yet we 
think it chiefly applies to natural or real objects, and not to chi- 
meras or visions of the imagination. . Hence v/e have been ac- 
customed, also, to look upon his celebrated description of the 
House of Morpheus, as an artistic enlargement by Spenser upon 
Chaucer : the most notable difference between them consisting in 
the superfluousness of classical allusions which encumber and 
characterize the former. And yet it were unjust not to notice 
that Spenser very judiciously, and with the truest poetical taste, 
heightens the notion of drowsiness, by his introduction of an 
"ever drizzling rain, mixt with a murmuring wind." Indeed 
the figure seems thereby transformed into reality. But let each 
bard strike the lyre with his own hand : — 

" He making speedy way through spersed ayre. 
And through the world of waters wild and depe. 
To Morpheus' house doth hastily repair, 
Amid the bowels of the earth full stepe. 
And low, where dawning day doth never peepe. 
His dwelling is ; there Tethys his wet bed 
Doth ever wash, and Cynthia still doth stepe 
In silver dew his ever-drooping head. 
Whiles sad Night over him her mantle black doth spread. 

Whose double gates he findeth locked fast ; 
The one fair fram'd of burnisht ivory. 
The other all with silver overcast ; 
And wakeful dogges before them far doe lye. 
Watching to banish Care, their enemy. 
Who oft is wont to trouble gentle Sleep. 
By them the Sprite doth passe in quietly. 
And unto Morpheus comes, wJiom drowned deepe, 
In drowsiefi he finds ; of nothing takes he kepe. 



CHAUCER AND SPENSER. 51 

And, more, to luUe him in his slumber soft, 

A irickllng streame from high rock tumbling downe, 

And ever drizzling raine upon the loft, 

Mixt with a murmuring windc, mucli like the sovvne 

Of swarming bees, did cast him in a swowne, 

No other noise, nor people's troublous cries, 

As still are wont t' annoy the walled town. 

Might there be heard ; but carelesse Quiet lyes 

Wrapt in eternall silence farre from enemy es."* 

Thus sang Spenser : hearken now to Chaucer : 

" This messenger tooke leve and went 
Upon his way, and never did he stent. 
Till he came to the darke valley 
That stant betweene rockes twey. 
There never yet grew corne ne grass, 
Ne tree, ne naught that aught was, 
Beast ne man, ne naught else. 
Save that there were a few wells 
Came rennen fro the cliffes adoimie 
That made a dcdly sleeping sowne, 
And rennen down right by a cave 
That was under a rocke ygrave. 
Amid the valley wonder deepe, 
There these goddes lay aslepe 
Morpheus and Eclympastiere 
That was the god of slepe's heir. 
That slept, and did none other werke.^' 

Spenser's description of Archimago's hermitage has been high- 
ly lauded ; 

» F. Queen, book I., canto i., st. 39, 40, 41. 



52 CHAUCER. 



" A little lowly hermitage it was, 
Down in a dale, hard by a forest's side ;" 

almost identical with the widowe's cottage, in the Nonnes Preeste's 
Tale : 

" A poure widowe, somdel stoupen in age, 
Was whilom dwelling in a narwe cotage, 
Beside a grove, standing in a dale.^^ 

Indeed Chaucer thoroughly understood what were the requisites 
of a " snuggery." Describing the Reve's house, he says : 

" His wonning was full faire upon an heth, 
With grene trees yshadowed was the place." 

These resemblances might be followed out almost indejfinitely, 
particularly in descriptions of rural scenery- and the music of 
birds : but we refrain, lest it prove distasteful, or be tortured into 
a reflection upon the genius or honor of Spenser; who could 
easily dispense with the title over much more than we dare claim 
as Chaucer's, and would still be rich in the stores of his own 
glorious fancies. 

We are now very naturally led to a consideration of the pro- 
fessed imitations or translations of Chaucer, by Prior, Pope, Gay, 
Wordsworth, Dryden, and others. Of these, Dryden's only are 
worthy of notice. Prior's attempts are disgusting for their ob- 
scenity, and are totally destitute of poetic merit; and Gay's in- 
significant imitations deserve a similar meed. Those by Pope 
were the eflusions of precocious youth, and are characterized by 
a pert smartness entirely unlike Chaucer. They suggest the 
idea of infancy assuming the " port and gesture " of robust 
manhood, or the wig and staff of " venerable eld." Wordsworth, 
at the same time that he manifests the highest deference for his 
original, and is careful to preserve its integrity complete, infuses 



HIS TRANSLATORS AND IMITATORS. 53 

upon it and through it an artistic smartness and coldness, and a 
modern twang, which contrasts strangely with its startling and 
antique ideas. It is as if a worn, old painting were transferred 
to a new frame sparkling with gilt and varnish. The result is 
unqualified dissonance. The same points, in a less degree, lie 
against Dryden that have been adduced in censure of Words- 
worth, while he is far less scrupulous in his regard for Chaucer's 
original, which he amplifies and dilutes : and his rank as an 
inferior poet is made more plainly evident from his prolonged 
measuring of his powers by that of his superior. But Dryden's 
" Tales " are something more than mere translations, and merit 
the title of complete and independent poems. They do not 
abound in awkward comminglings of old and new phrases ; nor 
do we observe in them the still greater outrages upon taste and 
good sense which signalize the other numerous imitations of our 
poet, and which consist in graceless collocations of antique and 
modern ideas, or in the mere fitting of an antiquated style upon 
insignificant and unmeaning thoughts. His translations are an 
honorable and laborious tribute to Chaucer's genius, and a power- 
ful attempt, in opposition to high authority, to introduce to his 
countrymen the Father of English Poetry. They are character- 
ized by ease, energy, and harmony, and, we may add, by no small 
degree of self-confidence — a property in which " glorious John " 
was by no means deficient. For, having observed a want of 
polish, a mingling of " trivial things with those of greater mo- 
ment," and an " excess of conceits " in Chaucer, he rashly dared 
to polish, to prune, and to adorn him. He thus defends his 
course: "Having observed this redundancy in Chaucer (as it is 
an easy matter for a man of ordinary parts to find a fault in one 
of greater), I have not tied myself to a literal translation ; hut 
have often omitted what I judged unnecessary, or not of dignity 
enough to appear in company of better thoughts. I have pre- 
sumed farther, in some places, and added somewhat of my own, 



54 CHAUCER. 



when I thought my author was deficient, and had not given his 
thoughts their true lustre, for want of words in the beginning of 
our language." Not content with this, but spirited on by his 
first rashness, to still higher presumption, he adds proudly, " what 
beauties I lose in some places, I give to others which had them 
not originally." 

Usually it is the fate of a great poet who falls into the hands 
of translators, to be shorn of many a gem, and to have his 
shining vesture parted among them. Such is Chaucer's lot even 
with Dryden, who unhappily forgets that Chaucer's beauties and 
his own are very different affairs, possessing different degrees of 
intrinsic value ; and that, although he may elevate his own 
thoughts by engrafting them upon Chaucer's original, he at the 
same time debases it. Hence, when we take up his translations, 
it is not Chaucer whom we read : just as AUston's Belshazzar's 
Feast by Mr. Spear is nevertheless not AUston's. It is true, 
Dryden generally preserves the beauties of his original — or, rather, 
" imparts noble hints " of them — but they are shorn of their 
simplicity, and obscured by a fluent loquaciousness, and rendered 
effeminate and wearisome by being appareled in a constantly 
recurring triplet, and a regular and perfect rhyme. This last, 
however, was an essential feature of the Dryden and Pope school, 
by which such trivialties were raised to a monstrous significancy, 
and for which they discarded the — to us — far more valuable 
quality that Dryden observed in Chaucer's style, and which he 
compared to the " rude sweetness of a Scotch tune." 

While most of our great poets unite in sounding the praise of 
Chaucer, we cannot fail to observe that Spenser and Dryden only 
studied him. Even they were directed by totally different views. 
Spenser sought to give vigor to his muse by nurturing it at the 
feet of his great master, and by training it under his guidance 
and companionship. With dignified humility he prayed that his 
master's mantle might fall upon him, and in his writings was re- 



HIS TRANSLATORS AND IMITATORS. 55 

produced the electric spark of Chaucer's mighty genius. Spenser's 
homage of the elder poet was profoundly reverential ; for he vvas an 
undoubted child of song, and owed to his ancestor a filial regard. 
Dryden, on the contrary, the father of a modern school of poetry, 
owed him no allegiance of affection. He did not study him 
duteously as a model, but carpingly as a critic. A second Ca- 
nute, he arrogantly prescribed rules for, and would fain fetter, 
the mighty billows of genius. A child of art, he was chiefly 
solicitous for artistic excellence, and prided himself upon the 
skilful disposition of words, and the construction of splendid or 
musical sentences. He was more careful to shape sentiments by 
the measure of critical propriety, than he was able to evoke such 
as should be radiant with originality. Consequently he is more 
desirous to clothe Chaucer in a modern garb, of unexceptionable 
fashion and finish, than he is to exhibit the wondrous grace, and 
symmetry, and strength of the form which it protects. He covers 
him with glittering ornaments, that are nearly fatal to the beauty 
he would make apparent : and we heartily long to see the limbs 
of the old-time poet clad in those appropriate and simple robes, 
so necessary to their freedom, and dignity, and ease. 

Although Dryden's study of our poet did not in any wise affect 
his original compositions — not so far as to lend them a single beauty ; 
yet the " Tales" display a simplicity and manliness, an earnest 
sense of the pathetic and beautiful, and a descriptive and dramatic 
power foreign to himself and worthy of the poet he copies. With 
him, ordinarily, passion is the offspring or slave of reason, and 
always appears under the same form and garb ; but while he 
translates from Chaucer he is transported with real and impulsive 
passion. Nevertheless, not even by Dryden is the full stature of 
our poet shown; his descriptions are more studied, and owe their 
perfection to repeated and labored touches ; they partake more of 
the exquisite though petty finish of a miniature, than of the lofty 
dignity of an historical, or the witching beauty of a landscape, 



56 CHAUCER. 



painting. In his satire also — and satire was Dryden's peculiar 
element — there is less of the calm self-possession of power, far 
less of that honest indignation which is void of malice, and boldly 
hurls its shaft at principles, regardless of men ; and more of 
acridness, and venom, and peevish selfishness. Though immeasura- 
bly superior to all other translations or imitations of Chaucer, they 
are yet like the French translations of Shakspeare's tragedies ; 
often forcing a smile where the simple pathos of the original 
would have compelled a tear. 

In proof of the truth of the foregoing strictures upon Dryden's 
Tales, compare the following description of a painting in the 
Temple of Venus with the original. 

" The goddess' self, some noble hand had wrought ; 
Smiling she seem'd and full of pleasing thought : 
From Ocean as she first began to rise, 
And smoothed the ruffled seas, and cleared the skies ; 
She trode the brine, all bare below the breast. 
And the green waves but ill-concealed the rest ; 
A lute she held ; and on her head was seen 
A wreath of roses red and myrtles green : 
Her turtles fann'd the buxom air above ; 
And by his mother stood an infant Love ; 
With wings unfledg'd, his eyes were banded o'er, 
His hands a bow, his back a quiver bore, 
Supply'd with arrows bright and keen, a deadly store." 

Still more apparent is Dryden's inferiority, in his translation 
of Chaucer's grand description of the Temple of Mars. 

" The landscape was a forest wide and bare ; 
Where neither beast nor human kind repair ; 
The fowl that scent afar, the borders fly, 



DRYDEN'S TRANSLATIONS. 57 

And shun the bitter blast, and wheel about the sky. 

A cake of scurf lies bakinfr on the around 

And prickly stubs, instead of trees are found ; 

Or woods with knots, and knares deformed and old ; 

Headless the most and hideous to behold ; 

A raftling tempest through the branches went, 

That stripped them bare, and one sole way they bent. 

Heav'n froze above, severe, the clouds congeal ! 

And thro' the crystal vault appear'd the standing hail. 

Such was the face without, a mountain stood 

Threat'ning from high and overlooked the wood ; ■ 

Beneath the lowering brow, and on a bent. 

The temple stood of Mars armipotent ; 

The frame of burnished steel, that cast a glare 

From far, and seemed to thaw the freezing air. 

A straight, long entry, to the temple led, 

Blind with high walls and horror over head ; 

Then issued such a blast, and hollow roar. 

As threatened from the hinge to heave the door ; 

In, through that door, a northern light there shone ; 

'Twas all it had, for windows were there none, 

The gate was adamant ; eternal frame ! 

Which hewed by Mars himself, from Indian quarries came. 

The labor of a god ; and all along 

Tough iron plates were clench'd to make it strong. 

A tun about was every pillar there ; 

A polished mirror shone not half so clear. 

There saw I how the secret felon wrought, 

And treason laboring in the traitor's thought ; 

And midwife time the ripened plot, to murder brought. 

There the red anger dared the pallid fear ; 

Next stood hypocrisy, with holy leer : 

Soft smiling and demurely looking down, 



58 . CHAUCER. 



But hid the dagger underneath the gown : 

Th' assassinating wife, the household fiend ; 

And far the blackest there, the traitor friend. 

On t'other side there stood destruction brave ; 

Unpunished rapine, and a waste of war. 

Contest, with sharpened knives in cloysters drawif, 

And all with blood bespread the holy lawn. 

Loud menaces were heard, and foul disgrace, 

And bawling infamy, in language base ; 

Till sense was lost in sound, and silence left the place. 

The slayer of himself yet saw 1 there, 

The gore congealed was clotted in his hair ; 

With eyes half closed, and gaping mouth he lay, 

And grim, as when he breathed his sullen soul away. 

In midst of all the dome, misfortune sat, 

And gloomy discontent, and fell debate ; 

And madness laughing in his ireful mood. 

And arm'd complaint and theft ; and cries of blood. 

There was the murdered corpse in covert laid, 

And violent death in thousand shapes displayed : 

The city to the soldier's rage resigned ; 

Successless wars, and poverty behind ; 

Ships burnt in fight, or forc'd on rocky shores, 

And the rash hunter strangled by the boars ; 

The new born babe by nurses overlaid, 

And the cook caught within the raging fire he made. 

All ills of Mars his nature, flame and steel ; 

The gasping charioteer, beneath the wheel 

Of his own car ; the ruin'd house that falls 

And intercepts her lord betwixt the walls : 

The whole division that to Mars pertains. 

All trades of Death that deal in steel for gains, 

Were there ; the butcher, armorer, and smith, 



DRYDEN'S TRANSLATIONS. 59 

Who forges sharpened falchions, or tho scythe. 
The scarlet conquest on a tower was placed, 
With soldiers' shouts and acclamations graced : 
A pointed sword hung threatening o'er his head, 
Sustained but by a slender twine of thread." 



60 CHAUCER. 



CHAPTER V. 

Prologue to the Canterbury Tales. — Analysis of the Prologue. 

The several elegant critics who have undertaken to point out the 
beauties of Chaucer, unite in expressing the warmest admiration 
for the felicitous prologue with which he prefaces his Canterbury- 
Tales ; and by which he unfolds the plan of his fable and dis- 
plays his characters. Especially have they united in commending 
the rich humor which impregnates it ; and in noticing that by it 
" is transmitted to posterity, such an accurate contemporaneous 
picture of ancient manners, of the pursuits and employments, the 
customs and diversions of our ancestors, copied from the life and 
represented with equal truth and spirit, as is possessed by no other 
nation.'" 

Some, however, have been dissatisfied because Chaucer did not 
here delineate the characteristics, the foibles, the graces, and the 
employments of the nobility of his age, as well as of the lower 
classes. But it should be remembered that every essential char- 

' Warton's Hist. Eng. Poetry, Vol. 1. To which those who desire a 
more intimate acquaintance with Chaucer are also referred, for an elegant 
and sprightly analysis of the characters in the Prologue ; as well as for a 
discriminating criticism of that poet's writings generally. This admirable 
performance ought always to be published with the author whom it so 
beautifully illustrates. Indeed, it is chiefly to the fine taste of Warton, and 
the critical sagacity of Tyrwhitt, that we and our posterity owe the warmest 
gratitude, for having rescued from a mass of literary ruin, the riches of our 
old-time Bard. And we here acknowledge that to them and the polished 
George Ellis, the writer is indebted for the readings and interpretations of 
Chaucer which appear in these pages. 



GENERAL AND CLASS DESCRIPTIONS. 61 

acteristic of the nobility, finds its counterpart in the great mass 
composed of the middling and lower classes. And that they not 
only form and direct the opinions of an age, but also furnish the 
most universal picture of real life. Those poets whose names are 
immortal have preferred to describe man as a species, and have 
seldom confined themselves to a class. They seize upon those 
universal attributes of humanity which are paramount to the arti- 
ficial divisions of society, or the more arbitrary ones of time. They 
choose for their burden the gigantic crimes of man, or the nobler 
and more genial theme of his virtues, rather than the trappings of 
his social condition. They never caricature the whole race, for 
the sake of hitting off the staring outlines of an eccentric indivi- 
dual ; but from the round of manners and habits,* of emotions, 
passions, affections and processes of thought, select such as are 
held in common, though shared in varying degrees by all man- 
kind. When, for instance, Shakspeare portrays the ignoble vice 
of cowardice in the person of Parolles, the vice does not depend 
upon the military gewgaws which invest it to excite our ridicule or 
disgust. Nor is the " infinite humor" of invincible Sir John 
Falstaff dependent upon his baronetcy or his obesity. That most 
vicious tyrant Richard the Third, whose detestable treachery our 
immortal Bard has depainted in such terrific characters, is the 
object of our hatred, just so far as he was a most abandoned and 
cruel man. The revengeful and obdurate Shy lock excites our 
repugnance, and causes our hands to clench in anger, not because 
he is a Jew or a Miser, but because he repudiates and outrages 
the tenderest attributes of our humanity. And here lies the 
universal intelligibility and success of Shakspeare, that the crimes 
or virtues, the passions and customs delineated, are peculiar to no 
class or rank ; but will apply to all of the species, in every age. 

If Chaucer displayed wisdom by his choice of the middle classes, 
as the best point from which to observe and describe the men of 
England in the fourteenth century j it is by his skilful groupings 



62 CHAUCER. 



of the characters drawn from thence ; by his happy arrangement 
of the petty peculiarities of each individual ; and by his harmonious 
blending of the variant lights and shadows of their diverse charac- 
ters, that his artistical ability and his poetical sensibility is chiefly 
made evident. And thus is his poetry impregnated with that 
invaluable quality which, without derogating from its higher attri- 
butes, affords us at this remote day a more accurate description 
of persons; their manners, habits, customs and apparel ; and of 
the different degrees of superstition, of education, and of refine- 
ment possessed by each, than we can derive from the most credi- 
table contemporaneous historians. Observe the ample fulness 
mingled with sententious brevity which signalize the following 
selections, descriptive of a young " Squier" and his " Yeman." 
At one glance we scan their persons and habiliments ; we note 
the shades of gaiety or of respectful sobriety apposite to each ; 
we perceive the light-hearted gallantry, the refinements and ac- 
complishments, together with the fondness for dress and finery so 
gracefully appropriate to him who was " as fresh as is the month 
of May ;" and also the less dazzling, but equally picturesque and 
manly decorations of his humbler companion. And we insensibly 
become as well acqijauited with their several avocations, as if we 
were contemporaries or spectators. 

" With him ther was his sone a young Squier, 
A lover and a lusty bachelor, 
With lockes crulP as they were laid in presse. 
Of twenty yere of age he was I gesse. 
Of his stature he was of even lengthe,^ 
And wonderly deliver,^ and grete of strengthe. 
Embrouded" was he, as it were a mede 
AUe ful of fresshe floures, white and rede. 
Singing he was, or floyting^ alle the day, 

* Curled. ^ Of a medium size, ^ Wonderfully agile or nimble. 

* Embroidered. 6 playing upon the flute. 



THE SQUIER AND HIS YEMAN. 63 

■ ■ *i 

He was as fresshe as is the moneth of May. 
Short was his goune, with sieves long and wide. 
Wei coude he sitte on hors, and fayre ride. 
He coude songes make, and wel endite, 
Juste and eke dance, and wel pourtraie and write. 

Curteis he was, lowly and servisable, 
And carf before his fader at the table. 

A Yeman hadde he, and servantes no mo 
At that time, for him luste to ride so ; 
And he was cladde in cote and hode of grene. 
A shefe of peacock arwes bright and kene 
Under his belt he bare ful thriftily. 
Wel coude he dresse his takel yemanly : 
His arwes drouped not with fetheres lowe, 
And in his bond he bare a mighty bowe. 

A not-hed hadde he, with a broune visage, 
Of wood-craft coude he wel alle the usage. 
Upon his arme he bare a gaie bracier. 
And by his side a swerd and bokeler, 
And on that other side a gaie daggere, 
Harneised wel, and sharp as point of spere : 
A Cristofre on his brest of silver shene. 
An home he bare, the baudrik was of grene. 
A forster was he sothely as I gesse." 

The " tendre hearted Prioresse" having already occupied our 
attention,^ we pass on to the next character in Chaucer's panoramic 
description. This is a Monk, one of those drones who fed upon 
the toil and sweat of the people ; and at the same time forged the 
iron chain of superstition, which bowed their necl;^ in disgraceful 
servitude. Right merrily does Chaucer belabor his lusty shoulders. 

» See page 34. 



64 CHAUCER. 



First he recounts the tastes and accomplishments of this son of the 



"A Monk ther was, a fayre for the maistrie, 
An outrider, that loved venerie ;^ 
A manly man to ben an abbot able. 
Ful many a dainte hors hadde he in stable : 
And whan he rode, men mighte his bridel here 
Gingeling^ in a whistling wind as clere, 
And eke as loude, as doth the chapell belle 
Ther as this lord was keper of the celle." 

He remarks the scrupulous attention of this holy man to the 
rules of his order, and encouragingly defends his logic and his 
practice : 

" The rule of Seint Maure and of Seint Beneit,. 
Because that it was olde and somdele streit, 
This ilke^ monke lette olde thinges pace, 
And held after the newe worlde the trace. 
He yave not of the text a pulled hen, 
That saith, that hunters ben not holy men ; 
Ne that a monk, whan he is rekkeles,* 
Is like to a fish that is waterles ; 
And I say his opinion was good. * 

What shulde he studie, and make himselven wood, 

1 Hunting 

^ Anciently, no person seems to have been gallantly equipped on horse- 
back, unless the Jiorse's bridle was stuck full of bells. Wicklifie, in his 
Trialoge, inveighs against the Priests for their " fair hors, and jolly and 
gay saddles, and briddles ringing by the way." — Warton's His. Eng. Poetry, 
Vol. i., p. 164. 

^ Same ^ Lawless. 



THE MONK. 65 



Upon a book in cloistre alway to pore, 
Or swinkcn witli his hondes, and laboure 
As Austin bit ?^ how slial the world be served ? 
Let Austin have his swink to him reserved. 
Therefore he was a prickasour" a right ; 
Greihoundes he hadde as swift as foul of flight : 
Of pricking and of hunting for the hare 
Was all his lust, for no cost wolde he spare." 

Instead of being clothed in coarse hair-cloth, and showing signs 
of his vigorous mortification of a sinful body, the poet says : — 

*' I saw his sieves purfiled at the bond 
With gris,^ and that the finest of the lond. 
And for to fasten his hood under his chinne 
He hadde of gold y wrought a curious pinne : 
A love-knotte in the greater end ther was. 
His hed was bald and shone as any glass, 
And eke his face, as it had been anoint. 
He was a lord full fat and in good point. 
His eyen stepe and rolling in his hed, 
That stemed as a forneis of a led. 
His boutes souple, his hors in gret estat, 
Now certainly he was a fay re prelat. 
He was not pale as a forpined* gost 
A fat swan he loved best of any rost." 

The most disgusting characters in Chaucer's picture of his 
times, are this ungodly and greasy monk, and his compeers the 
Frere and the PardojNERE. In position they sink far below the 
vulgar Miller ; who, though licentious and quarrelsome, was yet 

^ Bid. 2 A hard rider. 

3 Ed^ed with fur or minever. * Wasted. 



66 CHAUCER. 



a "stout carle for the nones," and relieved his ruffianly ferocity 
by manliness and blunt wit. Hiding his lasciviousness under the 
appearance of a " ful solempne man," the Frere ravaged the 
country as a confessor to stupid men and simple women ; fleecing 
the pockets of the one and debasing the honor of the other. 

" In all the ordres four is non that can 
So moche of daliance and fayre langage. 
Ful swetely herde he confession 
And plesant was his absolution. 
He was an esy man to give penance 
There as he wiste to ban a good pitance. 
His tippet was ay farsed^ ful of knives 
And pinnes for to given fayre wives. 
And certainly he hadde a merry note, 
Wei coude he singe and plaien on a rote. 
And in his harping, whan that he hadde songe, 
His eyen twinkled in his bed aright. 
As don the sterres in a frosty night. 
Thereto he strong was as a champioun, 
And knew wel the tavernes in every toune, 
And every hosteler and gay tapstere, 
Better than a lazar or a beggere, 
For unto swiche a worthy man as he 
Accordeth naught, as by his faculte 
To haven with sike lazars acquaintance. 
It is not honest, it may not avance." 

Equally caustic and humorous is his ridicule of the Pardonere. 
His hair is yellow and smooth as flax ; and it overspreads his 
shoulders with curls. As he rode thus, with his hood ofl* and 
" trussed up in his wallet," being also " bret-ful of pardon, come 
from Rome all bote." 

» Stuffed. ' 



THE MONK. 67 



" Ful loude he sang, Come liither, love, to nie. 
A vois he hadde, as small as hath a gote, 
No herd hadde he, ne never non shulde have, 
As smoothe it was as it were ncwe shave ; 
I trow he were a gelding or a mare." 

After thus artfully making us aware of his lecherous disposi- 
tion and his effeminate appearance, the poet displays the wares in 
which this sleek sinner dealt, and with which it was his custom 
(and perhaps his boast), to make the " parson and the people his 
apes." 

" In his mail he hadde a pilwebere,^ 
Which, as he saide, was our ladies veil : 
He saide, he hadde a gobbet^ of the seyl 
Thatte Seint Peter had, whan that he went 
Upon the see, till Jesu Crist him hent,^ 
He had a crois of laton* ful of stones, 
And in a glas he hadde pigges bones. 
But with these relikes, whanne that he fond 
A poure persone dwelling up on land 
Upon a day he gat him more monie 
Than that the parsone gat in monethes tweie." 

Of such as these were the religious orders composed, when 
Chaucer, and WicklifFe, and Longland, in a spirit of honest 
patriotism, determined to expose their vile courses. To England, 
they were like the plague of lice, which of old covered all the 
borders of Egypt. Swarming over the land in countless numbers, 
" as thick as motes in the sonne-beme," hostile to each other it is true, 
but leagued together in fastening their superstitions and deceptions 

1 Covering of a pillow, or pillow-case. 2 Morsel or bit. 

" Saved. * A cross of brass metal. 



68 CHAUCER. 



upon the people — it might truly be said of these reptiles, that they 
" came up into the houses, and into the bed-chambers, and upon the 
beds, and into the houses of the servants, and upon the people." Or, 
they were like the lean kine in Pharaoh's dream, that destroyed 
those that were " well favored and fat-fleshed." For, these 
foreign mendicants were first introduced, in order to correct the 
licentiousness, dissipation and negligence of the regular monas- 
tics : whom, indeed, they soon eradicated, after having adopted 
their vices ; which were also engrafted upon ambition the most 
unbounded, arrogance the most intolerable, and the most degraded 
superstitions. They also became an intolerable burthen to the 
state — in affairs of which they presumed to meddle and direct — 
since they were endowed by the Pope, among other immunities, 
with the privilege of travelling everywhere without liability to 
charge, and were absolved from all municipal taxes, had a,ccess 
to all ranks, and were the accredited confessors, the commissioned 
instructors of the youth and the women of the land. Even the 
garb of religion was thrown off unblushingly ; that respect to 
appearances which policy has usually required to be observed, 
was disregarded. The most palpable frauds and artifices were 
used in order to enrich and enlarge the various convents ; and the 
most licentious desires, the most damnable crimes were hidden 
under the flimsy coverings of the grey, white, or black friars.' 
As was perfectly natural, these mendicants were the creatures of 
the Pope, and stubbornly maintained his supremacy in opposition 
to the authority of the prelates of the Anglican Church. Hence 
they become equally obnoxious to the patriot and the Christian. 
We should not apply the corrupt practices of these infamous 

» A century and three quarters before Chaucer's time, the mendicant 
orders had begun to be scandalized by the intolerable licentiousness of in- 
dividuals of their class. And a curious specimen of poetical raillery, 
addressed against them, in the twelfth century, is yet extant, and is quoted 
in the appendix. 



THE " POURE PERSONNE." 69 

beings to the native rural clergy ; who, several centuries earlier, 
having been despoiled of the licentiousness which prevailed 
among them, at the same time with their wealth and luxury, had 
in the time of Chaucer become generally a pure and simple- 
minded class, probably delineated from the life in the character 
of the " PouRE Personne." This noble character, contrasting 
brightly against the lurid pictures of vice we have been consider- 
ing, affords a model for imitation to this day. It was appropriated 
by Dryden — who also amended and enlarged without improving 
it — to the celebrated Bishop Ken. 

^' He was a poure Personne of a town : 
But rich he was of holy thought and werk. 
He was also a lerned man, a clerk, 
That Criste's gospel trewely wolde preche. 
Benigne he was, and wonder diligent. 
And in adversitie full patient : 
Ful loth were him to cursen for his tithes. 
But rather wolde he yeven^ out of doute. 
Unto his poure parishens*^ about, 
Of his offering, and eke of his substance. 
Wide was his parish, and houses far asonder. 
But he ne left nought for no rain ne thonder, 
In sikenesse and in mischief to visite. 
The ferrest in his parish, moche and lite,^ 
Upon his fete, and in his hand a staf. 
This noble ensample to his shepe he yaf. 
That first he wrought, and afterward he taught. 
Out of the gospel he the wordes caught. 
And this figure he added yet thereto, 
That if gold ruste, what shuld iron do ? 

1 Give. * Parishioners. ^ Great and small 



70 CHAUCER. 



For if a preest be foule, on whom we trust, 
No wonder is a lewed man to rust, 
And shame it is, if that a preest take kepe, 
To see a foule shepherd, and clene shepe. 
Wei ought a preest ensample for to yeve. 
By his clenenesse, how his shepe shulde live. 
He dwelt at home, and kepte wel his folde, 
So that no wolf ne made it not miscarrie. 
He was a shepherd and no mercenarie. 
And though he holy were, and vertuous, 
He was to sinful men not dispitous,^ 
Ne of his speche dangerous ne digne,'^ 
But in his teching discrete and benigne. 
To drawen folk to heven, with fairenesse, 
By good ensample, was his besinesse : 
He waited after no pompe ne reverence, 
Ne maked him no spiced conscience. 
But Criste's love, and his Apostles twelve 
He taught, but first he folwed it himselve." 



The burly Miller is a thorough John Bull of the lower class ; 
straight-forward, blunt, fearless, independent, and with a steady 
eye to the main-chance ; given moreover, as all true Millers in 
every age and country are, to feats of strength and to the recital 
of marvellous tales. His portrait is nobly executed. 

" Ful bigge he was of braun, and eke of bones ; 
That proved wel, for over all there he came, 
At wrastling he wold here away the ram. 
He was short shouldered, brode, a thikke gnarre,^ 
Ther n'as* no dore, that he n'olde^ heve of barre, 

^ Angry in excess. ^ Proud. 3 Knot. 

4 Was not. 6 Would not. 



THE WIF OF BATHE. 71 



Or breke it at a renning with his hede. 
His berd as any sowe or fox was rede, 
And thereto brode, as though it were a spade. 
Upon the cop right of his nose he hade 
A wert, and thereon stode a tufte of haires, 
Rede as the bristles of a sowe's eares. 
His nose-thirles, blacke were and wide. 
A swerd and bokeler bare he by his side. 
His mouth as wide was as a forneis. 
He was a j angler^ and a goliardeis,^ 
And that was most of sinne, and harlotries. 
Wei coude he stelen corne, and tollen thries. 
And yet he had a thombe of gold parde^. 
A white cote, and a blew hode wered he. 
A bagge pipe wel coude he blowe and soune, 
And therewithal he brought us out of toune." 

The good Wif of Bathe, as self-assured as Miss Abby Kelly, 
and we opine, in addition thereto, a <' curst shrew," merits our 
passing attention. Masculine and severe, she was also tidy and 
industrious ; with notions of finery as peculiar to her age and 
station, as they are appropriate to Chaucer's humorous picture 
of her. 

" Hire coverchiefs weren full fine of ground ; 
I dorste swere they weyeden a pound. 
That on the Sonday were upon hire hed. 
Hire hosen were of fine scarlet rede, 
Ful strait yteyed, and shoon ful moist and newe ; 
Upon an ambler esily she sat, 
Ywimpled" wel, and on hire hede an hat, 

^ A great talker. 2 ^^ joker. 

3 An honest miller was said to have a thumb of gold. 

4 Covered with a hood or wimple. 



72 CHAUCER. 



As brode as is a bokeler, or a targe. 
A fote-manteP about hire hippes large, 
And on her fete a pair of spurres sharpe." 

Although not remarkably straight-laced in her morality, she was 
yet a scrupulous attendant upon the church services, at which she 
bore a prominent part, and " thries hadde she been at Jerusalem." 

" In al the parish, wif ne was ther none 
That to the offring before hire shulde gon, 
And if ther did, certain so wroth was she 
That she was out of alle charitee." 

The principal remaining characters are a Reve, a Frankelein, a 
Sompnour, a Doctor, a Shipman or Sailor, and a Clerk of Oxen- 
forde. These few personages, and the tales which they relate, 
effectually introduce to our presence most of the various classes 
that then existed in England. The Reve was at that period an 
officer of great importance to his master, whose affairs he guided ; 
to the yeomanry with whom he was brought in frequent contact, 
as the tenants, clients and dependents of his master, and to the 
lesser gentry by whom he was frequently consulted upon various 
matters of police, of farming, and of traffic, as the representative 
of his lord. As his likeness is drawn with great care it is sub- 
joined, somewhat at length. 

" The Reve was a slendre colerike man. 
His herd was shave, as neighe as ever he can : 
His hair wq^ by his eres round yshorne. 
His top was docked like a preest beforne ; 
Ful longe were his legges, and ful lean, 
Ylike a staff, ther was no calf ysene. 
Wei coude he keep a garner and a binne : 
Ther was non auditor coude on him winne. 

* A riding skirt. 



THE FRANKELEIN. 73 



Wei wiste he by the drouglit and by the rain, 
The yelding of his seed, and of his grain. 
His lordes shepe, his nete, and his deirie,^ 
His swine, his hors, his store, and his pultrie, 
Were holly in this reves governing, 
And by his covenant yave he rekening, 
Sin that his lord was twenty yere of age ; 
Ther coude no man brins: him in average. 
Ther n'as baillifF, ne herde, ne other hine, 
That he ne knew his sleight and his covine : 
They were adradde of him, as of the deth. 
His wonning^ was full fay re upon an heth, 
With grene trees yshadewed was his place. 
He coude better than his lord purchase, 
Ful riche he was ystored privily. 
His lord wel coude he plesen subtilly, 
To yeve^ and lene him of his owen good, 
And have a thank, and yet a cote and hood. 
In youthe he lerned hadde a good mistere, 
He was a wel good wright, a carpentere. 
This reve sate upon a right good stot* 
That was all pomelee grey, and highte Scot. 
A long surcote of perse^ upon he hade, 
And by his side he bare a rusty blade. 
Tucked he was, as is a frere, aboute, 
And ever he rode the hinderest of the route." 

The Frankelein, like the Miller, is a true John Bull, elevated 
and adorned by the characteristic virtue of the English country 
gentleman, — hospitality ; as well as by those softer shadows which 
must be supposed to have meliorated the lot of one so far the 

1 Dairy. 2 Dwelling. ^ Give and lend. 

4 Stallion * Sky-colored cloth. 



74 CHAUCER. 



social superior of the other. To make his resemblance to the 
hearty class above-mentioned more perfect, it must also be re- 
membered that he was a great lover of good wine : — 

" An housholder and that a grete was he ; 
Seint Julian- he was in his contree. 
His brede, his ale, was always after on ; 
A better envyned^ man was no wher non. 
Withouten bake meat never was his hous, 
Of fish and flesh, and that so plenteous, 
It snewed in his hous of meat and drinke, 
Of alle deinties that men coud of thinke, 
After the sondry sesons of the yere, 
So changed he his mete and his soupere. 
Ful many a partrich hadde he in mewe, 
And many a breme,^ and many a luce* in stewe.^ 
Wo was his coke, but if his sauce were 
Poinant and sharp, and redy all his gear. 
His table dormant in his halle alway 
Stode redy covered alle the longe day." 

The SoMPNOUR is a memento of an execrable class long since 
happily extinguished. He was an officer of one of the ecclesi- 
astical courts, with duties and a rank analogous to those of our 
constable. Being the incumbent of an office that was far from 
respectable or popular, he was also very ignorant ; and his drunk- 
en attempts to display his learning are supremely ludicrous. 
The gross and disgusting nature of his tastes and vices is made 
apparent by the foul diseases which have the noastery over him ; 
and thus by a fine touch of art the poet possesses us with the 
same personal repugnance for an abandoned and mercenary class, 
as actuated himself and his countrymen. For the Sompnour of 

^ St. Julian was the patron of housekeepers. '^ Stored with wine. 

3 A kind of fish. " Pike. ^ Pond. 



THE CLERKE OF OXENFORDE. 75 

the days of Edward the Third was as little beloved by the peo- 
ple, as the collector of tithes or of the excise is at this day in 
Scotland and Ireland. 

" lie hadde a fire-rcd cherubinne's face, 
For sausefleme^ he was, with eyen narwe. 
As bote he was, and likerous as a sparwe, 
With scalled" browes blake, and pilled herd ; 
Of his visage children were sore aferd. 
Ther n'as quicksilver, litarge, ne brimston, 
Boras, ceruse, ne oile of tartre non, 
Ne oinement that wolde dense or bite, 
That him might helpen of his whelkes white,^ 
Ne of the knobbes sitting on his chekes. 
Wei loved he garlike, onions, and lekes, 
And for to drinke strong win as rede as blood. 
And whan that he well dronken had the win, 
Then wold he speken no word but Latin. 
A fewe terms coude he, two or three. 
That he had lerned out of some decree. 
He was a genlil harlot and a kind ; 
A better felaw shulde a man not find. 
He wulde suffre for a quart of wine, 
A good felaw to have his concubine, 
A twelve-month, and excuse him at the full." 

The Clerke of Oxenforde throve not so well upon his love 
of learning as did the Sompnour upon his " garlike, onions, and 
lekes," and " strong win as rede as blood." His whole equipage 
and apparel give evidence of the severe mortification which po- 
verty often visits upon the followers of literature : — 

1 Red and pimpled. 2 Scabby. 

3 Foul running sores. 



76 CHAUCER. 



" As lene was his hors as is a rake, 
And he was not right fat, I undertake ; 
But loked hoi we/ and therto soberly. 
Ful thredbare was his overest courtepy.'' 
He was nought worldly to have an office." 

Exquisitely drawn, also, are the descriptions of the Shipman or 
Sailor, and the Doctor of Physike. The frank and fierce nature 
of the one contrasts powerfully against the cold and pedantic 
manners of the other. And yet we must acknowledge that, if 
we should encounter the former upon a lone highway, it would 
be with strong misgivings. For, although we have Chaucer's 
word for it that he " certainly was a good felaw," still we fancy 
not the dagger which is so ostentatiously suspended from his 
neck ; and think we can discern in his face, so " brown of 
hewe," that brave but unscrupulous and piratical spirit which 
a century or two later covered the seas with freebooters, and laid 
the foundations of England's mighty naval power. Nor do we 
experience an increase of confidence in him, as we read the list 
of his questionable graces : 

"Ful many a draft of winne he hadde draw 
From Burdeaux ward, while that the chapman slepe. 
If that he fought, and hadde the higher hand, 
By water he sent hem home to every land. 
Hardy he was and wise I undertake, 
"With many a tempest hadde his herd be shake." 

The literal frankness of the. closing lines of this quotation, and 
their perfect embodiment of the most poetical aspect of a sailor's 
rough fortunes, are inimitable. 

We now turn to the genial character of the Hoste of the 
Tabard, delineated with such signal ability by our poet. " Oure 

1 Hollow. 2 His short cloak. 



THE IIOSTE OF THE TABARD. 77 

hoste" is " bold of his speche," yet " wise and well ytaught," 
and respectful to rank and worth. He is the possessor of strong 
good sense, an indomitable will, and great physical strength. 
Having mingled freely with men of all ranks, under cover of the 
license of a convivialist, he was thus naturally fitted to assume 
the leadership of a promiscuous mass, and to detect and control 
the conflicting interests and fiery tempers of the least scrupulous 
portion of it. Chaucer has chosen to make him a principal 
figure, and trusts to him for keeping alive the action of his plot. 
To a company accidentally gathered under his roof, this prince 
of landlords proposes that they should enliven their journey to 
Canterbury, whither they were wending, upon a pilgrimage, by 
telling tales and making mirth. In no wise distrustful of him- 
self, he proffers his companionship and guidance. His offer is 
gladly accepted, and he is duly installed governor of the party, 
and the "juge and reporter of their tales." Thus, by common 
consent, " oure hoste," in addition to his being ex-qfficio caterer 
and marshal, is invested with a sort of critical prerogative ; a 
power which he fearlessly uses, roundly to censure a prolix or 
tiresome speaker, and even to silence him, to curb his satires 
upon some companion, or to silence the clamors of those who may 
have been thus assailed. 

This investiture of an inn-keeper with the robes of a critic, 
and the authority of leader over so numerous and respectable a 
company, may appear singular enough at this day : but was not 
so absolutely incongruous with the customs of the period when 
Chaucer wrote. At that time, a host was public property. His 
roof was common to all, and the same room, and even the same 
table, was often occupied by all the extremes of rank. From the 
bustling business qualities of his calling, aud his habitude to 
marshal and array these various ranks in their just order, he was 
well and naturally calculated for an emergency like the present. 
His bold, self-confident, and boisterous manner recommended him 



78 CHAUCER. 



to the gentler class of pilgrims, whom it relieved from any ob- 
ligations to entertain their companions of a da}^, and also shielded 
them from any undue familiarities. 

But although " oure hoste " was thus bold, boisterous, self- 
reliant, and fit 

" For to have been a marshall in an hall," 

yet, like many a wiser man, he succumbed to the " power of 
mighty love." For we have the passionate confession of this 
same Harry Bailly — frank and roystering Harry Bailly — that he 
had a wife " that of hire tongue a labbing (blahbing) shrewe was 
she !" That this " thorn in the side " of honest Harry was a 
most loveable helpmeet we do not doubt, if she possessed but a 
tithe of the accomplishments below enumerated : 

" When ended was my tale of Melibee, 
And of Prudence, and hire benignitee, 
Our hoste saide ; as I am faithful man. 
And by the precious corpus Madrian, 
I had lever than a barrell of ale 
That good lefe^ my wif had herde this tale ; 
For she n'is no swiche thing of patience 
As was this Melibeus wif Prudence. 

By Goddes bones, whan I beat my knaves, 
She bringeth me the grete clobbed staves. 
And cryeth : Slee the dogges everich one, 
And breke hem bothe bak and every bone. 

And if that any neighebor of mine, 
Wol not in chirche to my wife encline. 
Or be so hardy to hire to trespace, 
Whan she cometh home she rampeth^ in my face, 

1 Dear. 2 Flieth. 



THE HOSTE OF THE TABARD. 79 



And cryeth : false coward, wreke^ thy vvif ; 
By corpus Domini, I wol have thy knif, 
And thou shalt have my distaff and go spinne, 
Fro day til night right thus she will beginne. 

Alas, she saith, that ever I was yshape'* 
To wed a milksop or a coward ape, 
That wol ben overlade with every wight ! 
Thou darest not standen by thy wives right. 

This is my lif, but iP that 1 wol fight, 
And out at dore anon I mote" me dight, 
Or elles I am lost, but if that I 
Be like a wilde leon, fool-hardy. 

I wote wel she wol do me slee^ som day 
Som neighebour, and thanne go my way, 
For I am perilous with my knife in bond, 
Al be it that I dare not hire withstand ; 
For she is bigge in armes, by my faith. 
That shall he find, that hire misdoth or saith. 
But let us passe away fro this matere. 

We leave the contemplation of this " charming woman " with 
as much satisfaction as honest Harry himself, and will now cover 
our retreat from a pleasing task by the exhibition of his compact 
and formidable portrait, as he proposed to be their companion and 
guide : 

" Great chere made oure hoste us everich one, 
And to the souper sette he us anon : 
And served us with vittaile of the best. 
Strong was the wine, and wel to drinke us leste.' 
A semely man our hoste was with us alle 
For to han ben a marshal in an halle. 

1 Revenge. 2 Fated. 3 Unless. 

* Must. 5 She will cause me to slay. ^ We chose. 



80 CHAUCER. 



A large man he was with eyen stepe, 
A fairer burgess is there non in Chepe :^ 
Bold of his speche, and wise and well ytaught, 
And of manhood him lacked righte naught. 
Eke therto was he right a merry man, 
And after souper plaien he began. 
And spake of mirthe amonges other thinges. 
Whan that we hadden made our rekenninges; 
And saide thus ; Now, lordinges, trewely 
Ye ben to me right welcome heartily : 
For by my trouthe, if that I shall not lie, 
I saw not this yere swiche a compagnie 
At ones in this herberwe,^ as is now. 
Fayn wolde I do you mirth, and I wiste how. 
And of a mirthe I am right now bethought, 
To don you ease, and it shall cost you nought. 
Ye gon to Canterbury ; God you spede. 
The blissful martyr quite you your mede ;^ 
And wel I wot, as ye gon by the way. 
Ye shapen you to talken and to play : 
For trewely comfort ne mirthe is non 
To riden by the way dombe as the ston ; 
And therfore wold 1 maken you disport, 
As I said erst, and don you some comfort. 
And if you liketh, alle by one assent 
Now for to stonden at my jugement : 
And for to werken as I shall you say 
To-morwe when ye riden on the way. 
Now by my fathers soule that is ded 
But ye be merry, smiteth off my hed. 
Holde up your hondes withouten more speche. 
Our conseil was not longe for to seche :* 

1 Cheapside. 2 jnn. s Desert. * Seek. 



THE HOSTE OF THE TABARD. 81 

Us thought it was not worth to make it wise, 
And granted him withoutcn more avise, 
And bade him say his verdit as him leste. 

Lordinges, quod he, now lierkeneth for the beste ; 
But take it not 1 pray you in disdain ; 
This is the point, to speke it plat and plain, 
That eche of you to shorten with your way. 
In this viage, shal tellen tales twey. 
To Canterbury- ward, I mene it so. 
And homeward he shall tellen other two 
Of aventures that whilom han befalle. 
And which of you that beareth him best of alle, 
That is to sayn, that telleth in this case 
Tales of best sentence and most solas, 
Shall have a souper at youre aller^ cost 
Here in this place, sitting by this post. 
When that ye comen agen from Canterbury. 
And for to maken you the more merry, 
I wol myselven gladly with you ride, 
Right at my owen cost, and be*your guide. 
And who that will my jugement withsay, 
Shal pay for alle we spcnden by the way. 
And if ye vouchsafe that it be so, 
Telle me anon, withouten wordes mo. 
And I wol erly shapen me therefore." 

1 At the cost of all. 



SELECTIONS FROM CHAUCER 



I. 

RURAL DESCRIPTIONS. 
I. 

A WALK. 

I ROSE anono and thought I woulde gone 
Into the woode to hear tlie birdes sing, 
Whan that the misty vapour was agone, 
And cleare and faire was the morning, 
The dewe also like silver in shining 
Upon the leaves, as any baume swete, 
Till firy Titan with his persant' hete 

Had dried up the lusty licour newe, 
Upon the herbes in the grene mede, 
And that the floures of many divers hue, 
Upon hir^ stalkes gon for to sprede, 
And for to splay ^ out Mr leves in brede 
Againe the Sunne, gold burned in his spere, 
That doune to hem cast his beames clere. 

Piercing. " Their. s Unfold or open. 



CHAUCER. 



And by a river forth I gan costay/ 
Of water clere, as birell or cristall, 
Till at the last I found a little way, 
Toward a parke, enclosed with a wall, 
In compace rounde, and by a gate small, 
Who so that would, freely might gone 
Into this parke, walled with grene stone. 

And in I went to heare the birdes song. 
Which on the branches, both in plaine and vale, 
So loud sang, that all the wood rong. 
Like as it should shiver in peeces small. 
And as me thought, that the nightingale 
With so great might, her voice gan out wrest 
Right as her herte for love would brest.^ 

The soil was plaine, smooth, and wonder soft, 
All oversprad with tapettes^ that Nature 
Had made herselfe : covered eke aloft 
With bowes grene, the floures for to cure,* 
That in Mr beauty they may long endure 
From all assaut of Phebus fervent fere,^ 
Which in his sphere so bote shone and clere. 

The aire attempre," and the smooth wind 
Of Zepherus among the blosomes white, 
So holsome was, and so nourishing by kind, 
That smale buddes, and round blosomes lite. 
In maner gan of hir brethe delite. 
To yeve us hope there fruit shall take 
Ayenst autumne redy for to shake. 

I went coastwise. ^ Burst. ^ Tapestries. 

Save. * Fire ^ Temperate. 



RURAL DESCRIPTIONS. 87 

I saw the Daphene closed under rinde, 
Greene laurer/ and the holsome pine, 
The mirre also that wepeth ever of kinde, 
The cedres hie, upright as a line, 
The filbert eke, that lowe doth encline 
Her bowes grene to the earth adoune 
Unto her knight called Demophoun.^ 

There sawe I eke the fresh hawthorne 
In white motley, that so swete doth smell, 
Ashe, firre and oke, with many a young acorn, 
And many a tree mo than I can tell. 
And me beforne I saw a little well 
That had his course, as I gan beholde. 
Under an hill with quicke stremes colde. 

The gravel gold, the water pure as glasse, 
The bankes round the well envyroning. 
And soft as velvet the yonge grasse 
That thereupon lustily came springyng, 
The sute of trees about compassyng. 
Hir shadow cast, closing the well round. 
And all the herbes growing on the ground. 

And I that had through daunger and disdain 
So drye a thurst, thought I would assay 
To taste a draught of this welle or twain. 
My bitter languor if it might alay, 

1 Laurel. 

2 Chaucer alludes to the story of Phillis, daughter of Sithon, King of 
Thrace, who was betrothed to Demophoon, a son of Theseus. " A day had 
been fixed for their nuptials, but he not appearing at the appointed time, 
she fancied herself deserted, and hanged herself. The trees that sprang 
up around her tomb, were said at a certain season to mourn her untimely 
fate, by their leaves withering and falling to the ground." 



8S CHAUCER. 



And on the banke anone doune I lay, 

And with mine head unto the well I raught/ 

And of the water dranke I a good draught. 

Complaint of the Black Knight. 



n. 

ANOTHER WALK. 

Anone as I the day aspide,^ 

Ne longer would I in my bed abide, 

But unto a wood that was fast by, 

I went forth alone boldely, 

And held the way down by a brooke side. 

Till I came to a laund of white and grene, 

So faire one had I never in been, 

The ground was grene, ypoudred with daisie, 

The flowres and the greves on hie. 

All greene and white, was nothing els seene. 

There sate I downe among the faire flours, 
And saw the birdes trip out of Mr hours. 
There as they rested hem' all the night. 
They were so joyful of the dayes light. 
They began of May for to done honours. 

They coud* that service all by rote, 
There was many a lively note, 

1 Reached. ^ Espied. 

3 Them. "Knew. 



RURAL DESCRIPTIONS. 89 

Some song loud as they had plained, 
And some in other manner voice yfained, 
And some all out with the full throte/ 

They proyned'^ liem, and made hem right gay, 
And daunceden and lepten on the spray, 
And evermore two and two in fere,^ 
Right so as they had chosen hem to yere 
In Feverere upon Saint Valentine's day.* 

And the river that I sate upon. 
It made such a noise as it ron, 
Accordaunt with the birdes armony. 
Me thought it was the best melody 
That might ben yheard of any mon. 

And for delite, I wote never how 
I fell into a slomber and a swow, 
Nat all aslepe, nor fully waking. 

The Cuckow and the JVightingale. 



1 /. e. Some sang with loud waitings ; some imitated various other 
notQS and voices, and some poured out their exuberantly joyous melody 
«* with their full throte." 

2 Whosoever possesses one of those sweet children of Nature, a canary 
bird, can testify to the exquisite poetry contained in this couplet. Next 
to listening to its melody, it is most delightful to watch this little creature 
as it leaps and dances from sprig to sprig, and cleanses its feathers; 
" proyning" off such as are dead or useless, and restoring an elasticity, a 
lightness and freshness which had faded from them. 

3 In companionship. 

4 Alluding to the fancy that birds chose their mates upon St. Valentine's 
Day. 



90 CHAUCER. 



III. 

A WALK IN MAY. 

That it was May, thus dreamed me, 

In time of love and jollity, 

That all thing ginneth waxen gay : 

For there is neither busk nor hay^ 

In May, that it n'ill" shrouded bene, 

And it vv'ith newe leves wrene :^ 

These woodes eke recovered grene, 

That drie in winter ben to sene, 

And the erth waxeth proud withall, 

For swote dewes that on it fall, 

And the poore estat forget. 

In which that winter had it set : 

And than become the ground so proude, 

That it wol have a newe shroude, 

And maketh so queint his robe and faire, 

That it had hewes an hundred paire, 

Of grasse and floures, of Inde and Pers,* 

And many hewes full divers. 

The birdes that han left their song, 
While they han sufTred cold full strong. 
In wethers grille'^ and dark to sight, 
Ben in May for the Sunne bright. 
So glad, that they shew in singing, 
That in hir heart is such liking, 
That they mote singen and ben light : 
Then doth the nightingale her might, 

* Bush nor hedge. * Will not. 

3 Bedeck. 4 Qf an azure or blue color. 

5 Horrible (Webster says, '* Shaking with cold.") 



RURAL DESCRIPTIONS. 91 



To maken noise and singen blithe : 
Tiien is blissful many a sithe/ 
The chelandre and the popingaye,^ 
Then younge folke entenden aye, 
For to ben gay and amorous, 
The time is then so savorous.^ 

Harde is his heart that loveth nought 
In May, when all this mirth is wrought. 
When he may on these braunches here 
The smalle birdes singen clere 

r 

Hir blissful swete song piteous. 
And in this season delitous* 
When love affirmeth^ all thing, 
Methought one night, in my sleeping, 
Right in my bed full readyly, 
That it was by the morrow early. 
And up I rose, and gan me cloth, 
Anone I wysshe^ mine hondes both, 
A silver needle forth I drow, 
Out of an aguiler'^ queint ynow, 
And gan this needle thread ynone. 
For out of towne me list to gone. 
The sound of birdes for to heare 
That on the huskes singen clere. 
In the swete season that lefe is. 
With a thred basting my slevis 
Alone I went in my playing, 
The smal foules song hearkening, 
That payned Jie?n full many a paire, 
To sing on bowes^ blossomed faire : 

1 Tunes. ^ The goldfinch and parrot. 

3 Pleasant. ^ Delightful. 

5 Confirmeth or establisheth. ^ Wash. ^ A curious needle-case. 



92 CHAUCER. 



Jolife and gay, full of gladnesse, 

Toward a river gan 1 me dresse, 

That I heard renne'' faste by, 

For fairer playing none saw I 

Than playen me by the rivers : 

For from an hill that stood there nere, 

Come doun the stream full stifFe and bold 

Clere was the water, and as cold 

As any well is, sooth to saine^ 

And somedele lesse it was than Saine/ 

But it was straiter, welaway, 

And never saw I ere that day, 

The water that so wele liked me, 

And wonder^ glad was I to see 

That lusty place, and that rivere 

And with that water that ran so clere, 

My face I wysshe, tho'' saw I wele 

The bottom ypaved everidele'' 

With gravel, full of stones shene, 

The meadowes softe, sote® and grene, 

Beet right upon tlie water side. 

Full clere was than^ the morrowe tide, 

And full attempre out of drede,^*^ 

Tho gan I walken thorow the mede, 

Downward aye" in my playing. 

The river's side coosting." 

Romaunt of the Rose. 



1 To address in the sense of approach. 


2 Run. 


3 Sooth to say. 


4 The Seine. 


5 Wondrous. 


6 Then. 


''Every bit. 


8 Sweet. 


9 Then. 


10 Without doubt. 


" Ever. 





RURAL DESCRIPTIONS. 93 

IV. 

A WALK, AN ARBOR, AND BIRDS. 

When shoures sweet of raine descended soft, 
Causing the ground fele* times and oft, 
Up for to give many an wholesome aire, 
And every plaine was clotlied faire 

With new grene, and maketh small floures 
To springen here and there in field and mede, 
So very good and wholsome be the shoures, 
That it renueth that was old and dede. 
In winter time ; and out of every sede 
Springeth the hearbe, so that every wight 
Of this season wexeth glad and light. 

And I so glad of the season swete, 
Was happed thus upon a certain night, 
As I lay m my bed, sleepe full unmete, 
Was unto me, but why that I ne might 
Rest, I ne wist : for there n'as' earthly wight 
As I suppose had more hert's ease 
Than I ; for I n'ad^ sickness nor disease. 

Wherefore I mervaile greatly of my selfe, 
That I so long withouten sleepe lay. 
And up I rose three houres after twelfe. 
About the springen of the day. 
And on I put my geare and mine array. 
And to a pleasant grove I gan passe, 
Long er^ the bright Sunne up risen was. 

1 Many. ^ Was not. 

3 Had not. ^ Ere. 



94 CHAUCER. 



In which were okes great, streight as a line, 
Under the which the grasse so fresh of hew, 
Was newly sprong, and an eight foot or nine 
Every tree well fro his fellow grew, 
With branches brode, laden with leves newe, 
That sprongen out agen^ the sunne-shene. 
Some very red, and some a glad light greene. 

Which as me thought was right a pleasant sight, 

And eke the briddes songe for to here. 

Would have rejoiced any earthly wight, 

And I that couth not yet in no manere 

Heare the nightingale of all the yeare, 

Full besily hearkened with herte and with eare, 

If I her voice perceive coud any where. 

And at the last a path of little brede^ 

I found, that greatly had not used be, 

For it forgrowen^ was with grasse and weede, 

That well unneth^ a wighte might it see : 

Thought I, this path some whider goth, parde ;^ 

And so I followed, till it me brought 

To right a pleasaunt herber*' well ywrought, 

That benched was, and with turfes'' new 
Freshly turved, whereof the grene gras, 
So small, so thicke, so short, so fresh of hew. 
That most like unto green wool wot I it was : 
The hegge^ also that yede'' in compass. 
And closed in all the greene herbere, 
With sicamours was set and eglatere ;^° 

^ Against. ^ Breadth. 3 Overgrown. ■* Scarcely. 

5 An affirmative oath, synonymous with surely. " Arbor. 

' Turf. « The hedge. 9 Went. 'o Eglantine. 



RURAL DESCRIPTIONS. 95 

Wrethen in fere^ so well and cunningly, 

That every branch and leafe grew by measure, 

Plaine as a bord, of an height by and by, 

I sie never thing I you ensure, 

So well done ; for he that took the cure 

It to make ytrow,- did all his peine 

To make it passe all tho that men have seine. 

And shapen was this lierher roofe and all 
As a prety parlour ; and also 
The hegge as thicke as a castle wall. 
That who that list without to stond or go. 
Though he would all day prien to and fro, 
He should not see if there were any wight 
Within or no : but one within well mio^ht 

Perceive all tho that yeden there without. 

In the field, that was on every side 

Covered with corn and grasse, that out of doubt 

Though one would seeke all the world wide, 

So rich a fielde coud not be espide 

On no coast, as of the quantity. 

For of all good thing there was plenty : 

And I that all this pleasaunt sight sie, 
Thought sodainly I felt so sweet an aire 
Of the eglentere, that certainely 
There is no hert, I deme, in such dispaire, 
Ne with thoughts froward and contraire, 
So overlaid, but it should soone have bote,^ 
If it had ones felt this savour sole. 

1 Together. 2 i trow, 3 Help or comfort. 



CHAUCER. 



And as I stood and cast aside mine eie, 

I was ware of the fairest medlar^ tree 

That ever yet in all my life I sie, 

As full of blossomes as it mighte be, 

Therein a goldfinch leaping pretile''^ 

Fro bough to bough ; and as him list, he eet 

Here and there of buds and floures sweet. 

And to the lierher side was joyning 
This faire tree, of which I have you told, 
And at the last the brid^ began to sing, 
Whan he had eaten what he eat wold ; 
So passing sweetly, that by manifold 
It was more pleasaunt than I could devise, 
And whan his song was ended in this wise. 

The nightingale with so merry a note 

Answered him, that all the wood rong 

So sodainly, that as it were a sote,'* 

I stood astonied, so was I with the song 

Thorow^ ravished, that till late and long, 

I ne wist in what place I was, ne where ; 

And ayen,^ me thought, she song ever by mine ere. 

Wherefore I waited about busily 
On every side, if I might her see ; 
And at the last I gan full well aspy 
Where she sat in a fresh grene laurer tree. 
On the further side even right by me. 
That gave so passing a delicious smell, 
According to the egleniere full well. 

1 Mespilus. 2 pj-ettily. 3 Bird. 

4 A fool. ^ Thoroughly. c Again. 



RURAL DESCRIPTIONS. 97 

Whereof I had inly so great pleasure, 
That, as me thought, I surely ravished was 
Into Paradise, where my desire 
Was for to be, and no ferther passe 
As for that day, and on the sole grasse 
I sat me downe, for as for mine entent, 
The birdes song was more convenient, 

And more pleasaunt to me by many fold, 
Than meat or drink, or any other thing. 
Thereto^ the herher was so fresh and cold. 
The wholesome savors eke so comforting. 
That as I demed, sith'^ the beginning 
Of the world was never scene ere then 
So pleasaunt a ground of none earthly man. 

The Flower and the Leaf. 



V. 

A GARDEN AND A WELL. 

The garden was by measuring 
Right even and square in compassing 
It as long was as it was large. 
Of fruit had every tree his charge. 
There were, and that wote I full well, 
Of pomgranettes a full gret dele ; 
And trees there were great foison,' 
That baren nuts in Mr season, 
Such as menne nutmegges call, 

» Add to that, or thereto. 2 since. • 3 Plenty. 

6 



98 CHAUCER. 



That swote of savour been withal, 
And almandres' great plentee, 
Figges, and many a date tree 
There weren, if menne had nede, 
Through the gardin in length and brede. 

There was eke wexing^ many a spice, 
As clove, gilofre, and licorice, 
Gingere, and grein de Paris, 
Canel], and setewale of pris,^ 
And many a spice delitable. 
To eaten when men rise fro table. 

And many homely trees were there, 
That peaches, coines,* and apples here, 
Medlars,^ plummes, peeres, chesteinis,® 
Cherries, of which many one faine is. 
Notes, aleis, and bolas,'' 
That for to scene it was solas, 
With many high laurer and pine. 
Was ranged clene all that gardine. 

There were elmes great and strong. 
Maples, ashe, oke, aspes, planes long,^ 
Fine ewe, popler, and lindes faire,^ 
And other trees full many a paire. 

These trees were set that 1 devise,^" 
One from another in assisei^ 
Five fadom or six, I trowe so 
But they were high and great also : 
And for to keep out well the Sunne 

1 Almond-trees. 2 Growing. 

3 Valerian of price, or great value. 

4 Quinces. . 5 The fruit of the Mesphilus. 

c Chestnuts. ^ Plum. 8 The plane-tree, platanus. 

9 Linden. ^0 That I relate of. " In situation. 



RURAL DESCRIPTIONS. 99 

The croppes^ were so thicke yrunne, 
And every branch in otlier knitte, 
And full of grene leaves sitte,^ 
That Sunne might there non descend, 
Least the tendre grasses shend.^ 
There might menne does and roes ysee, 
And of squirrels full gret plentee, 
From bough to bough alway leping, 
Conies there were also playing, 
That comen out of liir clapers* 
Of sundry colours and maners. 
And maden many a tourneying* 
Upon the freshe grasse springing. 

In places saw I welles there, 
In whiche there no frosfjes were, 

DO ' 

And faire in shadow was every well ; 
About the brinkes of these wells 
And by the stremes over all els^ 
Sprang up the grasse, as thicke yset 
And soft as any velvet, 
On which man might his lemman'' lay 
As on a feather bed to play, 
For the earth was full soft and swete : 
Through moisture of the well wete 
Sprung up the sole grene gras. 
As faire, as thicke, as mister^ was. 
But much amended it the place. 
That thearth' was of such a grace 
That it of flourcs hath plente, 

1 The branches. 2 Set. 3 Hurt. 4 Burrows. 

6 Tumbling. 6 Over all beside. 

7 Literally love-man, beloved man or woman. « As need was. 
The earth. 



100 CHAUCER. 



That both in summer and winter be. 

There sprang the violet all new, 
And fresh pervinke^ rich of hewe, 
And floures yellow, white and rede, 
Such plenty grew there never in mede : 
Full gay was all the ground and queint. 
And poudred, as men had it peint, 
With many a fresh and sundry flour. 
That casten up full good savour. 

And so befel, I rested mee 
Besides a well under a tree, 
Which tree in Fraunce men call a pine, 
But sith the time of King Pepine 
Ne grew there tree in mannes sight 
So faire, ne so well woxe in hight, 
In all that yard so high was none. 
And springing in a marble stone 
Had nature set, the sooth to tell, 
Under that pine tree a well, 
And on the border all without 
Was written on the stone about 
Letters small, that SEtiden thus 
Here starfe the faire Narcissus. 

Unto this well then went I me. 
And downe I louted^ for to see 
The clere water in the stone. 
And eke the gravell, which that shone 
Downe in the bottom, as silver fine : 
For of the well, this is the fine,* 
In world is none so clear of hewe. 
The water is ever fresh and newe 

» Periwinkle. 2 Bowed. 3 End. 



RURAL DESCRIPTIONS. loi 



That welmeth up with waves bright 
The mountenance of two finger hight : 
About it is grasse springing 
For moist^ so thick and well likincr 

o 

That it ne may in winter die 

No more than may the see be drie. 

Down at the bottom set saw I 

Two christal stones craftely 

In thilke^ fresh and faire well : 

But 0^ thing soothly* dare I tell, 

That ye woU hold a great mervaile 

Whan it is told withouten faile. 

For whan the Sunne clere in sight 

Cast in that well his beames bright, 

And that the heat descended is, 

Then taketh the christal stone ywis, 

Againe^ the Sunne an hundred hewis, 

Blew, yellow, and red, that fresh and new is : 

Yet hath the mervailous christall 

Such strengthe, that the place over all"' 

Both foule and tree, and leaves grene, 

And all the yerd in it is scene : 

And for to done' you to understond, 

To make ensample will I fond : 

Right as a mirror openly 

Sheweth all thing that stondeth thereby, 

As well the colour as the figure 

Withouten any coverture :^ 

Right so the christall stone shining, 

Withouten any deceiving, 

1 By reason of moisture. 2 This. 

3 One. 4 Truly. s Against. 

6 All that is in the whole place. 7 Make. 8 Covering. 



102 CHAUCER. 



The entrees of the yerd accuseth ; 
To him that in the water museth 
For ever in which half ye bee, 
Ye may well halfe the garden see : 
And if he turne, he may right wele 
Seene the remnaunt every dele : 
For there is none so little thing 
So hid ne closed with shytting^ 
That it is ne seene, as though it were 
Painted in the christall there. 

Romance of the Rose. 



VI. 
THE DAISY. 

Of all the floures in the mede. 
Than love I most these floures white and rede, 
Soch that men callen daisies in our town ', 
To hem I have so great affection. 
As I said erst, whan comen is the May, 
ThE^t in my bedde there daweth me no day, 
That I nam*^ up and walking in the mede, 
To seene this flour ayenst the Sunne sprede, 
Whan it up riseth early by the morow. 
That blissful sight softeneth all my sorow, 
So glad am I, whan that I have the presence 
Of it, to done it all reverence. 
And ever I love it, and ever ylike newe. 
And ever shall, till that mine herte die 
AlP swere I not, of this I will not lie. 

There loved no wight hotter in his life. 

Shutting. 2 That I am not. 3 Although I swear not 



RURAL DESCRIPTIONS. 103 

\nd whan that it is eve, I renne blithe/ 
As soone as ever the Sunne ginneth west,^ 
To secne this floure, how it woll go to rest, 
For feare of night, so hateth she darknesse, 
Her chore is plainly spred in the brightnesse 
Of the Sunne, for there it will unclose : 
Alas that I ne had English rime, or prose 
Suffisaunt, this flour to praise aright, 
But helpeth me, ye that han cunning and might. 

My busie gost, that thursteth alway newe, 
To seen this flour so yong, so fresh of hew, 
Constrained me, with so greedy desire, 
That in my herte 1 fele yet the fire, 
That made me rise ere it were day. 
And this was now the first morow of May, 
With dreadful? herte, and glad devotion 
For to been at the resurrection 
Of this floure, whan that it should unclose 
Againe the Sunne, that rose as redde as rose. 
And doune on knees anon right I me sette, 
And as I could, this fresh floure I grette. 
Kneeling alway, till it unclosed was, 
Upon the small, soft, swete gras, 
That was with floures swete embrouded all, 
Of such swetenesse, and such odour overall* 
That for to speke of gomme, herbe, or tree. 
Comparison may not ymaked be. 
For it surmounteth plainly all odoures. 
And of rich beaute of floures. 
And Zephirus, and Flora gentelly, 
Yave to these floures soft and tenderly, 

1 I ran blithely. ^ Beginneth to sink in the west. 

3 Timorous. ■* Above all others. 



104 CHAUCER. 



Hir svvote breth, and made hem for to sprede, 
As god and goddesse of the flourie mede, 
In which me thoughte I might day by day, 
Dvvellen ahvay, the joly month of May, 
Withouten slepe, withouten meat or drinke : 
Adoune full softly I gan to sinke. 
And leaning on my elbow and my side. 
The long day J shope' me for to abide, 
For nothing els, and I shall nat lie. 
But for to looke upon the daisie, 
That well by reason men it call may 
The daisie, or els the eye of the day, 
The empress and floure of floures all, 
I pray to God that faire mote she fall,^ 
And all that loven floures for her sake. 

Legend of Good Women. 



VII. 

FLOWERS AND A GROVE. 

Down by a flowery grene we went 

Full thicke of grasse, full soft and sweet, 

With floures fele,^ faire under feet. 

And little used, it seemed thus. 

For both Flora and Zepherus, 

They two that make the floures grow 

Had made hir dwelling there I trow, 

For it was on* to behold 

As though the earth envye wold 

I Schemed or planned. 2 That fair or good luck may befall her. 

3 Many. 4 To look upon. 



RURAL DESCRIPTIONS. 105 



To be gayer than the heven, 
To have more floures such seven, 
As in the welkin starres be : 
It had forgot the poverte 
That winter through his cold morrowes 
Had made it suffer, and his sorrowes, 
All was foryeten,' and that was scene, 
For all the wood was woxen grene, 
Sweetness of dewe had made it waxe. 

It is no need eke for to axe 
Where there were many grene greves, 
Or thick^ of trees, so full of leves ; 
And every tree stood by himselve 
Fro other, wel tenne foot or twelve, 
So great trees, so huge of strength, 
Of fortie or fiftie fadome length, 
Cleane without bowe or sticke, 
With croppes^ brode, and eke as thicke ; 
They were not an inch asunder, 
That it was shade over all under, 
And many a hart, and many a hind 
Was both before me and behind, 
Of fawnes, sowers,** buckes, does. 
Was full the wood, and many roes. 
And many squirrels, that sete 
Full high upon the trees, and etc, 
And in her maner maden feasts. . . . 

Boke of the JDutchesse. 

I Forgotten. 2 Thicket. 

3 Branches. ^ Bucks of four years old. 

6* 



lOtf CHAUCER. 



vm. 

A GARDEN AND BIRDS. 

And with that my hand in his he toke anone, 
Of which I comfort caught, and went in fast, 
But Lord so I was glad, and well begon, 
For over all, where I mine eyen cast, 
Were trees clad with leaves, that aie shall last 
Eche in his kind, with colour fresh and grene, 
As emeraude,^ that joy it was to scene. 

The bilder^ oke, and eke the harde asshe, 
The piller^ elme, the coffre unto caraine, 
The boxe pipe tree, holme to whippes lache, 
The sailing firre, the cipres deth to plaine, 
The shooter ewe, the aspe for shaftes plaine, 
The olive of peace, and eke the dronken vine, 
The victor palme, the laurer too divine. 

A garden saw I, full of blossomed bowis, 
Upon a river, in a grene mede. 
There as sweetnesse evermore inough is, 
With floures white, blewe, yelowe and rede, 
And cold welle streames, nothing dede, 
That swommen full of smale fishes light, 
With finnes rede, and scales silver bright. 

On every bough the birdes heard I sing, 
With voice of angell in hir armonie. 
That busied hem, hir birdes forth to bring ; 

1 Emerald. 2 The oak used in building. 3 Pillar. 



RURAL DESCRIPTIONS. 107 

The little pretty conies to hir play gan hie, 
And further all about I gan espie, 
The dredeful roe, the buck, the hart, and hind, 
Squirrels, and beastes small of gentle kind. 

Of instruments of stringes in accorde. 
Heard I so play a ravishing swetnesse. 
That God, that maker is of all and Lorde, 
Ne heard never better, as I gesse ; 
Therewith a wind, unn^h^ it might be lesse, 
Made in the leaves grene a noise soft. 
Accordant to the foules song on loft." 

The aire of the place so attempre was,^ 
That never was ther grevance of hot ne cold, 
There was eke every holsome spice and gras, 
Ne no man may there waxe sicke ne old. 
Yet was there more joy o* thousand fold, 
Than I can tell or ever could or might, 
There is ever clere day, and never night. 

Assembly of Foules. 



IX. 
SINGING OF BIRDS. 

Me thought thus, that it was May, 
And in the dawning there I lay. 
Me mette^ thus in my bed all naked. 
And looked forth for I was waked. 
With smale foules a grete hepe, 

J Scarcely. 2 On high. 

3 Temperate. "» One. « Dreamed. 



103 CHAUCER. 



That had afraied' me out of my slepe 

Through noise and swetnesse of hir song ; 

And as me mette, they sat among* 

Upon my chamber roof without 

Upon the tyles over all about. 

And everiche^ song in his wise 

The most solemne servise 

By note, that ever man I trow 

Had heard, for some of hem sang low, 

Some high, and all ol»one accord -, 

To tell shortly at one word 

Was never heard so sweet steven* 

But it had be a thing of heaven ; 

So merry a sowne, so sweet entunes,^ 

That certes for the towne of Tewnes 

I n'olde but I had heard hem sing^ 

For all my chamber gan to ring 

Through singing of hir ermony ; 

For instrument nor melody. 

Was no where heard yet half so sweet. 

Nor of accord halfe so mete. 

For there was none of hem that fained 

To sing, for each of hem him pained 

To find out many crafty notes, 

They ne spared nat hir throtes. 

And sooth to saine my chambre was® 

Full well depainted, and with glas 

1 Aroused. 2 Together. 3 Each one. 

4 Voice or burden. & Songs. 

<5 This description of Chaucer's chamber is given, not for its poetical 
beauty, but because it illustrates the customs of the times. The glass 
which is so prominently noticed, was yet a rarity, and was considered a 
luxury and a mark of great magnificence. 



RURAL DESCRIPTIONS. 109 



Were all the windows well yglased 
Ful clere, and nat an hole ycrased,* 
That to behold it was great joy ; 
For wholly all the story of Troy 
Was in the glaising ywrought thus, 
Of Hector, and of King Priamus, 
Of Achilles, and of King Laomedon, 
And eke of Medea, and Jason, 
Of Paris, Helene, and of Lavine, 
And all the walls with colours fine 
Were paint, both text and glose. 
And all the Rom aunt of the Rose : 
My windows weren shit echone. 
And through the glasse the Sunne shone 
Upon my bed with bright hemes. 
With many glad glidy' stremes, 
And eke the welkin was so faire, 
Blew, bright, clere was the aire, 
And full attempre, for sooth it was, 
For neyther too cold ne bote it n'as 
Ne in all the welkin was no cloud. 

Boke of the Dutchesse. 



X. 

AN EAGLE NEAR THE SUN. 

Mine eyen to the Heaven I cast. 
And was I ware, lo, at the last. 
That fast by the Sunne on hye. 
As kenne might I with mine eye, 
Me thought I saw an egle sore, 
But that it seemed much more 

» Broken. 2 Sparkling. 



110 CHAUCER. 



Than I had any egle ysein, 
This is as sooth as death certain/ 
It was of gold, and shone so bright, 
That never saw men such a sight. 
But if the Heaven had y wonne 
All newe of God another Sunne 
So shonne the egles fetheres bright, 
And somewhat downward gan it light. 

The House of Fame. 



XL 
SONG OF BIRDS 

IN PRAISE OF LOVE AND MAT. 

On May day whan the larke began to rise, 
To matens went the lusty nightingale, 
Within a temple shapen hauthorn wise. 
He might not slepe in all the nightertale,^ 
But " Domine labia," gan he cry and gale, 
" My lippes open lord of love I cry. 
And let my mouth thy preising now bewry.' 

The egle sang " Venite bodies all. 
And let us joy to love that is our health," 
And to the deske anon they gan to fall. 
And who came late he pressed in by stealth 
Then said the falcon our own hertes wealth, 
" Domine Dominies noster I wote 
Ye be the God that done us brenne so bote.'' 

1 This is as true as death is certain. 

2 In the night-time. 3 Discover. . 



RURAL DESCRIPTIONS. Ill 

" CcbU enarrant^^'' said the popingay, 

" Your might is told in Heaven and firmament." 

And then came in the gold-finche freshe and gay, 

And said this psalm with hertily glad intent 
" Domini est terra'^ (this laten intent/ 

The god of love hath yerth in governaunce) : 

And then the wren gan skippen and to daunce. 

" Juhe Domino, O Lord of love, I pray 
Commaund we well this lesson for to rede. 
This legende is of all that woulden dey 
Martires for love, God yet their souls spede : 
And to thee, Venus, sing we out of drede, 
By influence of all thy vertue great 
Beseeching thee to keepe us in our heat." 

The second lesson Robin redbreast sang, 

" Haile to the god and goddess of our lay," 
And to the lectorne amorously he sprong, 

" Haile now" (quod eke), " O fresh season of May, 
Our moneth glad that singen on the spray 
Haile to thy floures rede and white and blewe, 
Which by their virtue'^ maketh our lust new." 

The third lesson the turtil dove took up. 
And thereat lough^ the mavis^ in a scorne. 
He said, " O God, as mote I dine or suppe. 
This foolish dove will give us all an home, 
There ben right here a thousand better borne 
To rede this lesson, which as well as he. 
And eke as bote, can love in all degree." 

1 This Latin meaneth. 2 Efficacy. 

3 Laughed. ■* The thrush. 



112 CHAUCER. 



The turtil dove said, " Welcome, welcome, May. 

Gladsome and light to lovers that ben trew : 

I thanke thee lord of love that doth purvey^ 

For me to rede this lesson al of dewe, 

For in good sooth of corage I pursue, 

To serve my make^ till death us must depart," 

And then " Tu aute?n^' sang he all apart. 

" Te deum amoris,^^ sang the throstel cocke, 
Tuball himself, the first musician. 
With key of armony coude not unlocke 
So swete tune as that the throstel can : 

" The lorde of love we praisen" (quod he then 
And so done all the foules great and lite), 

" Honour we May, in false lovers despite." 

" Dominus regnavit^^ said the pecocke there, 
" The lord of love, that mighty prince y wis. 
He is received here and every where. 
Now Jubilate sing :" — " What meaneth this ?" 
Said then the linnet ; " welcome, lord of blisse :" 
Out sterte the owle with " Benedicite, 
What meaneth all this merry fare" (quod he). 

" Laudate,'^ sang the lark, with voice full shrill. 

And eke the kite, " O admirahile, 

This quere^ will thorow" mine ears pers^ and thril, 

But what, welcome this May season" (quod he), 
" And honour to the lord of love mote be, 

That hath this feste so solempne and so hie," 
" Amen,''^ said all, and so said eke the pye. 

1 Provide. 2 Mate. 3 Choir. 

4 Trough. 5 Pierce. 



RURAL DESCRIPTIONS. 113 

And forth the cockow gan proceede anon, 
With " Benedicius,^' thanking God in hast, 
That in this May would visite them echon,^ 
And gladden them all while the feast should last : 
And therewithal a laughter out he brast,'^ 
" I thanke it God that I shuld end the song 
And all the service which hath ben so long." 

Thus sang they all the service of the feast, 

And that was done right early to my dome,^ 

And forth goth all the court, both moste and leste,* 

To fetch the flowers fresh, and braunch and blome,^ 

And namely hauthorne brought both page and grome. 

With fresh garlants party blew and white, 

And then rejoysen in their great delite. 

Eke each at other threw the floures bright, 

The primerose, the violete, and the gold, 

So then as I behold this royall sight, 

My lady gan me sodenly behold. 

And with a trew love plited® many a fold, 

She smote me through the very heart, as I blive,' 

And Venus yet I thonke I am alive. 

Court of Love. 

Note to Rural Descriptions. — Chaucer's allusions to the 
" season of May," and to the amorous and vivifying influence 
that it exerted upon man and beast, are very frequent. Most of 
these selections teem with them. He seems indeed to be really 
transported with delight whensoever he contemplates this lovely 
season : and in this he faithfully represents the feelings of his 

1 Each one. 2 Burst. 3 Judgment. 

* Great and small. s Blossom. 6 Plaited. ' I believe. 



114 CHAUCER. 



age. For numberless were the customs and observances that 
had been instituted by his spring-loving countrymen in honor of 
May ; or that perhaps had been suggested to them by reason of 
its fresh and balmy days, which offered immunity from toil, and 
from the rigorous cold that had just passed away. Prominent 
amid these customs, and universally diffused throughout England, 
were the sports and pastimes which ushered in and attended 
May-Day. This was, in an especial manner, the festival of the 
young, and, with many others, had its origin in that mysterious 
and instinctive appreciation of the fit and the beautiful impregnat- 
ed by the spirit of poetry which characterizes the fresh and 
simple ages of society. The terms mysterious and instinctive are 
used, because the real poetry which invests and hallows the 
customs, and even superstitions, of the peasantry of every coun- 
try, will allow no origin for them in cold-blooded design or studied 
invention. Year by year, upon the simple custom or observance 
are grafted the grotesque imaginings or subtle fancies of poetical 
spirits. And thus they progress, and by the aid of tradition 
become indelibly impressed upon the minds of an unlettered 
people, till at last their origin, and also that of the nucleus 
round which they cluster, is lost in the " palpable obscure " of 
antiquity. 

Most appropriate to this fresh and balmy season was the favor- 
ite idea of Chaucer, that then such of the passions of man as are 
founded upon the affections developed themselves : that then the 
sexes were impelled together by a mutual and irresistible at- 
traction : that then Love reigned predominant, causing even the 
birds to choose their mates, and possessing the beasts of the field 
with frisky wantonness. For the year was new, and " every- 
thyng was in its myght." The skies looked smilingly upon the 
bursting buds and blossoms, and (as a most poetical writer says) 
"it seemed just the chosen period for heaven, and earth, and 
youth, to mingle their gladness together." 



RURAL DESCRIPTIONS. 115 

Nor was Chaucer the only one who considered this month the 
peculiar season for youthful pleasures, and of sexual attrition. 
Herrick, in his " Hesperidcs," has a noble hymn in honor of 
May-Day, in which he describes felicitously and in detail the 
customs that obtained in his time ; most of which were identical 
with those participated in by Chaucer, and so fondly loved by 
him. As I should otherwise still more unduly transgress the 
legitimate limits of a note, this little poem, so illustrative of an 
almost forgotten but Arcadian custom, is given in the Appendix. 

In some of the old calendars, also, the utmost vigor of youth 
and the delights of love are symbolized by the month of May. 
In these the young are represented as sitting upon the grass, the 
men ornamenting the heads of the girls with flowers, and enjoy- 
ing the pleasures of dalliance and courtship. Everything, ani- 
mate or inanimate, was now supposed to have reached perfection, 
nor were any signs of decay yet visible.^ 

Other more modern poets have perpetuated the frequent al- 
lusions of Chaucer, his predecessors, and contemporaries, to the 
influences, the sports and observances peculiar to this month. 
Spenser, in his magnificent poem of " Mutabilitie," thus takes 
up the burden in honor of May . 

" Then came fair May, the fairest maid on ground, 
Deck'd all with dainties of her season's pride, 
And throwing flowers out of her lap around : 
Upon two brethren's shoulders she did ride. 
The twins of Leda ; which, on either side, 
Supported her like to their sovereign queen. 
Lord ! how all creatures laugh'd when her they spied, 
And leap'd, and danc'd, as they had ravished been ; 
And Cupid's self about her flutter'd all in green." 

1 See Douce's Illus. Shaks., pp. 45 and 424. 



116 CHAUCER. 



And again, in his Shepherd's Calendar : 

" Young folk now flocken in everywhere 
To gather May buskets/ and smelling brere ;^ 
And home they hasten the posts to dight, 
And all the kirk pillars ere daylight : 
With hawthorne buds, and sweet eglantine, 
And garlands of roses, and sops-in-wine. 
Then to the greene-wood they speeden hem all, 
To fetchen home May and their musicall. 
And home they bringen, in a royal throne, 
Crouned as king, and his queen attone. 
Was Lady Flora, on whome did attend 
A faire flock of fairies, and a fresh band 
Of lovely nymphs. O that I were there 
To helpen the ladies their May-bush beer."^ 

Milton also frequently glances at this delightful time, and the 
following would seem to have been composed by him, Spenser in 
hand : 

" Now the bright morning star, day's harbinger, 
Comes dancing in the east, and leads, with her 
The flowery May, who from her green lap throws 
The yellow cowslip, and the pale primrose. 

Hail, bounteous May, that doth inspire 

Mirth, and youth, and young desire ; 

Woods and groves are of thy dressing, 

Hill and dale doth boast thy blessing. 
Thus we salute thee with our early song, 
And welcome thee, and wish thee long." 

» Bushes. 2 Sweet Briar. s Bear. 



II. 
PAINTINGS. -FEMALE CHARACTERS, 



I. 

BEAUTY. AN IMPERSONATION. 

The god of love jolife^ and light, 

Led on his honde a lady bright, 

Of high prise,^ and of gret degre. 

This ladie called was Beaute ; 

Ne she was derke,^ ne browne, but bright 

And cleare as the moone light ; 

Againe* whom all the starres seemen 

But small candles as we demen :^ 

Her flesh was tender as dewe of flower, 

Her cheare^ was simple as bird in bower j 

As white as lilly or rose in rise :'' 

Her tresses yellow, and long straughten,^ 

1 Joyful. 2 Praise or value. 3 Dark. 

* Against, or in contrast with whom. ^ Judge. 

« Appearance or demeanor ' The rose bursting its bud. s Stretching. 



118 CHAUCER. 



Unto her heeles down they raughten :* 
Her nose, her mouth, and eye and cheke 
Wei wrought, and all the remnaunt eke. 
A full gret savour and a swote ; 
Me thoughte in mine herte rote, 
As helpe me God, when I remember 
Of the fashion of every member, 
In world is none so faire a wight : • 
For yong she was, and hewed bright 
Sore plesant and fetis^ with all. 
Gentle and in her middle small. 

Romaunt of the Rose. 



II. 

CRESEIDE. 

Creseide was this ladies name aright, 

As to my dome^ in all Troies city 

Most fairest ladie, passing every wight 

So angelike shone her native beaute, 

That no mortal thing seemed she : 

And therewith was she so perfect a creature, 

As she had be made in scorning of Nature. 

And so befell, whan comen was the time 

Of Aprill, whan clothed is the mede. 

With new greene, of lustie veer* the prime. 

And with sweet smelling floures white and rede 

In sundry wise shewed, as I rede. 

The folke of Troie, their observances old, 

Palladion's^ feste went for to hold. 

1 Reaching. 2 Well made. 3 Judgment. 

* Spring. 5 Feast in honor of Pallas, the tutelar deity of the Trojans. 



PAINTINGS.-FEMALE CHARACTERS. 119 

Unto the temple in all their best wise, 

Generally there went many a wight, 

To hearken of Palladion's servise, 

And namely many a lustie knight, 

And many a ladie fresh and maiden bright, 

Full well arraied bothe most and least, 

Both for the season and the high feast. 

Among these other folke was Creseida, 
In widowes habite black ; but natheless^ 
Right as our first letter is now a. 
In beaut ie first so stood she matchless, 
Her goodly looking gladded all the prees,'' 
Was never seene thing to be praised so dere. 
Nor under cloude blacke so hriglite starre. 

Creseide meane^ was of her stature. 
Thereto of shape, of face and eke of chere, 
There might ben no fairer creature. 
And ofte time this was her manere. 
So gone ytressed with her haires clere 
Downe by her colere* at her back behind. 
Which with a thred of gold she woulde bind. 

And save her browes joyneden yfere,^ 
There nas^ no lacke, in aught I can espien ; 
But for to speken of her eyen clere. 
So, truly they written that her seien,' 
That Paradis stood formed in her eien, 
And with her riche beauty evermore 
Strove love in her, aie which of hem was more. 

1 Nevertheless. 2 The crowd. 3 Was of mean or ordinary stature. 
4 Collar. 5 Together. « Was. ' Seen. 



120 CHAUCER. 



She sobre was, eke simple, and wise withall, 
The best ynorished^ eke that might bee, 
And goodly of her speche in generall, 
Charitable, estately, lusty and free, 
Ne nevermore ne lacked her pitee, 
Tender hearted sliding of corage, 
But truly I can not tell her age.^ 

Troilus and Creseide. 



III. 
ROSIALL. 

For if I shall all fully her descrive, 

Her head was round by compasse of nature, 

Her haire as gold, she passed all on live ; 

A lilly forehead had this creature. 

With lively browes, yellow, of color pure, 

Betwene the which was meane^ disceveraunce 

From every brow, to shew a due distaunce. 

Her nose directed streight, and even as a line 

With forme and shape therto convenient,* 

In which the goddes milk white path doth shine ; 

And eke her eyen twain ben bright and orient, 

As is the smaragde,^ unto my judgement. 

Or yet those sterres Heavenly stnall and bright ; 

Her visage is of lovely rede and white. 

1 Educated. 

2 Chaucer's humor here breaks out against the sensitiveness which ladies 
of all ages exhibit in regard to their own age. 2 Due. 

* Agreeable. s Emerald. 



PAINTINGS.— FEMALE CHARACTERS. 121 

Her mouth is sliort and shut in little space 
Flaming somedeale,^ not over redde I mean, 
With pregnant lips, and thick to kisse percase ;'» 
For lippes thinne, not fat, but ever lene. 
They serve of naught, they be not worth a bene ; 
For if the basse ben full, there is delight, 
Maximian truly thus doth he write. 

But to my purpose, I say white as snow 
Been all her teeth, and in order they stond 
Of one stature, and eke her breath I trow, 
Surmounteth all odours that ever I found 
In swetenesse, and her body, face and bond 
Been sharpely slender, so that from the head 
Unto the foot, all is but womanhead. 

I hold my peace, of other thinges hidde. 

Here shall my soule and not my tong bewray ; ^ 

But how she was arraied, if ye me bidde. 

That shall I well disdover you and say : 

A hend ^ of gold and silkc, full fresh and gaie, 

With her intresse,^ broudered full wele, 

Right smoothly kept and shining every dele .^ 

About her necke a flower of fresh devise,'^ 
With rubies set, that lusty were to sene, 
And she in goun was light and summer wise, 
Shapen full well, the colour was of grene. 
With aureat sent about her sides clene, 
With divers stones precious and rich, 
Thus was she rayed, yet saw I never her lich.® 

1 Somewhat. 2 Perchance. 3 Discover. * Band. 

6 With hair intressed. ^ Every bit. 7 Design. 8 Like or equal 

7 



122 CHAUCER. 



And softly gan her colour to appeare, 
As rose so red throughout her visage all, 
Wherefore me think it is according here, 
That she of right be cleped ^ Rosiall. 

Court of Love. 



IV. 

EMELIE THE BRIGHT. 

Thus passeth yere by yere, and day by day, 
Till it felle ones in a morwe of May, 
That Emelie, that fayrer was to sene. 
Than is the lilie upon his stalke grene, 
And fressher than the May with floures newe 
(For with the rose colour strove hire hewe ; 
I n'ot ^ which was the finer of hem two). 
Ere it was day, as she was wont to do, 
She was arisen, and all redy dight. 
For May wol have no slogardie^ a-night. 
The seson pricketh every gentil herte. 
And maketh him out of his slepe to sterte. 
And sayeth, arise, and do thine observance.* 

This maketh Emelie ban remembrance 
To don honour to May, and for to rise. 
Y'clothed was she fresh for to devise. 
Hire yehue here was hroidcd in a iresse, 
Behind hire hack, a yerde long Igesse. 
And in the gardin at the sonne uprist^ 
She walketh up and doun wher as hire list. 

1 Called. 2 I know not. 3 Sloth. 

4 Alluding to the beautiful custom explained in note at page 113, and in 
the Appendix. ^ Uprising. 



PAINTINGS.— FEMALE CHARACTERS. 123 

She gathereth floures, partie white and red, 
To make a sotel garlond for hire hed. 
And as an ano;el hevcnlich she sonoj. 

The Knightes Tale. 



V. 

VENUS AND CUPID. 

The statue of Venus glorious for to see 
Was naked fleting' in the large see, 
And fro the navel doun all covered was 
With waves grene, and bright as any glas. 
A citole^ in hire right hand hadde she. 
And on hire hed, ful seemely for to see, 
A rose gerlond fresshe ai\d well smelling, 
Above hire hed, hire doves fleckering^ 
Before hire stood hire sone Cupido, 
Upon his shoulders winges had he two ; 
And blind he was, as it is often sene ; 
A how lie hare and arwes hright and kene. 

The Knishtes Tale. 



VI. 

ALISOUN. 

Fayre was this yonge wif, and therewithal 
As any wesel hire body gent* and smal. 
A seint^ she wered, barred all of silk, 
A barme-cloth "^ eke as white as morwe' milk 

1 Floating. 2 A musical instrument. 3 Fluttering. ^ Neat. 

5 A girdle or cincture. ^ An apron. ' Morning's milk. 



124 CHAUCER. 



Upon hire lendes,^ ful of many a gore. 

White was hire smok, and brouded all before, 

And eke behind on hire colere aboule 

Of cole-black silk, within and eke withoute. 

The tapes of hire white volupere^ 

Were of the same suit of hire colere ; 

Her fillet brode of silk and set full hye ; 

And sikerly she had a likerous eye. 

Full smal y pulled were hire browes two, 

And they were bent," and black as any slo. 

She was more blisful on to see,^ 

Than is the newe perjenete ^ tree ; 

And softer than the wool is of a wether. 

And by hire girdel heng a purse of leather, 
Tasseled with silk and perled with latoun."^ 
Ful brighter was- the shining of hire hewe 
Than in the tower the noble forged newe. 
But of hire song, it was as loud and yerne^ 
As any swallow sitting on a berne.® 
Thereto she coude skip, and make a game. 
As any kid or calf, folowing his dame. 
Hire mouth was sweet as braket or the meth,® 
Or hord of apples laid in hay or heth.^" 
Winsing" she was as is a jolly colt, 
Long as a mast and upright as a bolt. 
A broche she bare upon hire low colere, 
As brode as is the bosse of a bokelere.^^ 
Hire shoon were laced on hire legges hie : 
She was a primerole, a piggesnie^^ 

1 Loins. 2 Tapes of her cap. 3 Arched. 

4 To look upon. & Pear. ^ Fringed with cloth of gold. 

7 Early. ^ Barn. » A drink made of honey and spices. 

10 Heather. ii Pranksome. 12 Buckler. is A primrose, a puppet 



PAINTINGS.— FEMALE CHARACTERS. 125 

For any lorde to liggen^ in his bedde, 
Or yet for any good yeman to wedde. 

The Milleres Tale. 



VII. 
VIRGINIUS' DAUGHTER. 

Faire was this maid in excellent beautee 
Aboven every wight that man might see : 
For nature hath with soveraine diligence 
Yformed hire in so gret excellence, 
As though she wolde say, Lo ! I Nature, 
Thus can I forme and peint a creature. 

This maid of age twelf yere was and tway,^ 
In whiche that nature hadde swiche delit. 
For right as she can peint a lilly white 
And red a rose, right with swich peinture 
She peinted hath this noble creature ^ 

Ere she* was born, upon hire limmes free, 
Whereas by right swiche colours shulden be : 
And Phebus died hath hire tresses grete, 
Like to the stremes of his burned hete. 

And if that excellent were hire beautee 
A thousand fold more virtuous was she. 
As wel in gost as body, chaste was she : 
For which she floured in virginite, 
With all humility and abstinence, 
With all attemperance and patience. 
With measure eke of bearing and array. 
Discrete she was in answering alway. 

1 To lay. 2 Two. 



126 CHAUCER. 



No countrefeited termes hadde she 

To semeni wise ; but after hire degree 

She spake, and all hire wordes more and lesse 

Souning^ in vertue and in gentilnesse. 

Shamefast^ she was in maiden's shamefastnesse, 

Constant in herte, and ever in besinesse 

To drive hire out of idle slogardie : 

And in hire living maidens mighten rede 

As in a book, every good word and dede, 

That longeth* to a maiden vertuous ; 

She was so prudent and so bounteous. 

For which the fame of her outsprong on every side 

Both of hire beutee and hire bountee wide : 

That through the lond, they preised hire each one 

That loved virtue, save envie alone, 

That sory is of other mannes wele, 

And glad is of his sorrow and unhele.^ 

The Doctoures Tale, 



VIII. 
GLADNESSE. 

These folke, of which I tell you so 

Upon a carol wenten tho : 

A ladie carolled hem, that hight 

Gladnesse, blissful and light, 

Wei coude she sing and lustely 

None halfe so well and semely : 

And coude make in song such refraining, 

1 Seem. 2 Sounding. 3 Modest. 

^Belongeth. ^ Misfortune. 



PAINTINGS.— FEMALE CHARACTERS. 127 

It sate her wonder well to sing. 

Her voice full clere was and full swete. 

She was not rude ne unmete. 

Both was she faire and bright of hew, 

She semed like a rose new 

Of colours, and her flesh so tender, 

That with a brerei small and tender. 

Men might it cleve, I dare well say : 

Her forehead frounceles all play, 

Bent'^ also were her browes two. 

Her eyen gray and glad also. 

That laughden aye in her semblaunt, 

First or the mouth by covenaunt. 

I wot not of her nose I shall descrive, 

So faire hath no woman alive : 

Her haire was yellow, and clere shining, 

I wote no lady so liking. 

Romaunt of the H 



IX. 

RICHESSE. 

Beside -Beaute yede^ Richest, 
An high ladie of great noblesse. 
And great of price in every place : 
But who so durst to her trespace 
Or till her folke, in werke or dede, 
He were full bardie out of drede. 

Richesse a robe of purple on had, 
Ne trow not that I lie or mad ; 
For in this world is none it liche,* 
Ne by a thousand deale so riche, 
1 Briar. '-^ Arched. ^ Went. < Like. 



128 CHAUCER. 



Ne none so faire, for it full weale 
With orfrais^ laid was every dele, 
And purtraid^ in the ribanings^ 
Of dukes stories and of kings ; 
And with a bend* of gold tassiled 
And knopes^ fine of gold amiled ; 
About her necke of gentle entayle'' 
Was shet the riche chevesaile/ 
In which there was full great plente 
Of stones clere, and faire to see. 

Richesse a girdle had upon, 
The bokell of it was of stone 
Of virtue great and mokel might : 
For whoso bare this stone so bright 
Of venim durst him nothing doubt® 
While he the stone had him about : 
That stone was greatly for to love. 
And till a rich mannes behove"" 
Worth all the gold in Rome and Frise :^' 
The mordaunt wrought in noble gise 
Was of a stone full precious, 
That was so fine and virtuous. 
That whole. a man it couthe make. 

Upon the tresses of Richesse 
Was set a circle of noblesse 
Of brende gold, that full light shone, 
So faire I trowe was never none. 
But he were cunning for the nones 
That could devise all the stones 



1 Gold embroideries. 2 Portrayed. s Laces. 

■* Band, ^ Buttons. e Shape. ? Necklace. « Muckle. 9 Fear. 

JO So a rich man's behoof or choice. " Friezland. 



PAINTINGS.— FEMALE CHARACTERS. J 29 



That in that circle she wen clere, 

It is a wonder thing to here. 

For no man coud preise or gesse 

Of hem the value or richesse : 

Rubies there were, sapphires, ragounces^ 

And emeraudes more than two ounces. 

But all before full subtilly 

A fine carbuncle set saw I, 

The stone so clere was and bright, 

That all so soon as it was night 

Menne might seene to go for need 

A mile or two in length or brede. 

Such light ysprang out of the stone, 

That Richesse wonder bright yshone 

Both her head and eke her face 

And eke about her all the place. ^ 

The Romaunt of the Rose. 



X. 

IDLENESS. 

The door of this entre^ 
A maiden curteous opened me : 
Her haire was as yellowe of hewe 

' Jacinth. 

2 Warton has very justly remarked, " Nothing can be more sumptuous 
and superb than the robe and other ornaments of Richesse or Wealth. 
They are imagined with great strength of fancy. But it should be remem- 
bered that this was an age of magnificence and show ; when a profusion 
of the most splendid and costly materials were lavished on dress, generally 
with little taste and propriety, but often with much art and invention." — 
Hist. Eng. Poetry, vol. i., pp. 375 and 376. 

3 Entrance. 

7* 



130 CHAUCER. 



As any bason scoured newe, 
Her flesh as tender as is a chicke, 
With bente browes, smooth and slicke, 
And by measure large were 
The opening of her eyen clere ; 
Her nose of good proportion, 
Her eyen graie, as is a faucon/ 
With swete brethe and well favoured, 
Her face white and well coloured ; 
With little mouth and round to see ; 
A clove chinne eke hadde she : — 
Fro Jerusalem to Burgoine 
There n'is*^ a fairer necke ywis,^ 
To fele how smooth and soft it is. 
Her throte also white of hewe. 
As snowe on braunche snowed newe. 
Of bodie full well wrought was she. 
Men neden not in no countrie 
A fairer body for to seke : 
And of fine orfrais" had she eke 
A chapelet, so semely on 
Ne wered never maid upon ; 
And faire, above that chapelet 
A rosy garlond had she set. 
Well semed by her apparaile 
She was not wont to great travaile.^ 
For whan she kempt" was fetously'' 
And well arraied and richely, 
Then had she done all her journee 
For merry and well begon® was she. 
She led a lustie life in May 

1 Falcon. 2 is not. 3 Certainly. ^ Gold embroideries. 

6 Labor. « Combed. ' Neatly. ^ Jn a good way. 



PAINTINGS.-FEMALE CHARACTERS. 131 

She had no thought by night ne day 

Of notliing, but if it were onely 

To graithe' her well and uncouthely." 

She was not yet twelve years of age, 
With herte wild, and thought volage.^ 
Nice she was, but she ne ment 
None harm ne sleight in her entent, 
But onely lust and jollity. 
For yonge folk, wel weten ye 
Have little thought but on hire play. 
Her lemman was beside alway, 
In such a guise that he her kist 
At all times that so him list, 
That all the daunce* might it see 
They make no force of privitee 
For whoso spake of hem evil or wele, 
They were ashamed never adele,* 
But men might seene hem kisse there 
As it two yonge doves were. 

The Romaunt of the Ease. 



XI. 

LARGESSE. 

Largesse had on a robe fresh 
Of rich purpure sarlinish f 
Wel formed was her face and clere, 
And opened has she hir colere ; 

> Array. 2 Oddly. s Giddy. 

4 /.e., Those engaged in dancing, or composing the dance 

5 A bit. ^ Purple sarcenet. 



132 CHAUCER. 



And through her smocke wrought with silke, 

The flesh was seene as white as milke : 

Largesse that worthy was and wise 

Held by the hond a knight of prise,^ 

Was sibbe^ to Arthur of Bretaigne 

Her moste joie was ywis, 

When that she yave, and saied, have this. 

Not Avarice the foule caitiffe 

Was halfe to gripe so ententive^ 

As Largesse is to yeve and spend 

And God alway ynough her send/ 

So that the more she gave away, 

The more ywis she had alway. 

The Rom aunt of the Rose. 



XII. 

FRAUNCHISE. 

And next him daunced dame Fraunchise 
Arrayed in full noble guise : 
She was not broune ne dunne of hew, 
But white as snow yfallen newe : 
Her nose was wrought at point devise, 
For it was gentil and tretise ;^ 
With eyen glad, and browes bent. 
Her haire downe to her heles went ; 
And she was simple as dove on tree, 
Full debonair*^ of heart was she. 
And she had on a suckeny,' 

1 Renown. 2 Related. » Attentive. * Sent. 

5 Her nose was exactly and well proportioned. 6 Gentle, courteous. 
' Loose frock. 



PAINTINGS.— FEMALE CHARACTERS. 133 

That not. of hempe herdes^ was, 
So faire was non in all Arras ; 
Lord, it was riddled'^ fetisly — 
Full well yclothed was Fraunchise, 
For there is no cloth sitteth bette 
On damosell, than doth rokette :^ 
A woman well more fetise is 
In rokette than in cote ywis, 
The white rokette riddeled faire 
Betokeneth, that full debonaire 
And swete was she that it beare. 

The Romaunt of the Rose. 



XIII. 

NATURE. 

Then was I ware, where there sate a queen 
That as of light the sommer Sunne shene* 
Passeth the sterre, right so over mesure, 
She fairer was than every creature. 

And in a lande, upon an hill of floures 
Was set this noble goddesse Nature, 
OLbranches were her halles and her boures 
Y wrought after her craft and her mesure ; 
Ne there was foul that cometh of engendure, 
That there ne were pressed in her presence, 
So take hire dome and yeve hire audience. 

For this was on Sainct Valentine's day, 

1 Of hempen-flax. 2 No clothing sitteth better, or is more becoming. 
3 Loose gown. ^ Sunshine. 



134 CHAUCER. 



When every foule cometh to choose hir make, 
Of every kind that men thinke may ; 
And then so huge a noise gan they make 
That earth, sea, and tree, and every lake, 
So full was, that unneth there was space 
For me to stand, so full was all the place. 

But to the point : Nature held on her hond, 
A formell egle,^ of shape the gentilest, 
That ever she among her workes found, 
The most benigne, and eke the goodliest, 
In her was every virtue, at his rest 
So farforth, that Nature her selfe had blisse, 
To looke on her, and oft her beak to kisse. 

The Asseinbly of Foules. 



XIV. 

A BEAUTEOUS LADY. 

It happed that I came on a day. 
Into a place, there that I sey^ 
Truly, the fairest companie 
Of ladies, that ever man with eie 
Had seene together in one place. 
Among these ladies thus echone^ 
Sooth to saine,* I saw one, 
That was like none of the rout, 
For I dare swere withoute doubt, 
That as the summer's Sunne bright 
Is fairer, clerer, and hath more light 

1 Female Eagle. 2 Saw. 3 Each one. ^ Sooth to say. 



PAINTINGS.— FEMALE CHARACTERS. 135 

Than any other planet in Heaven, 
The Moone, or the sterres seven, 
For all the world so hadde she 
Surmounten hem all of beautee, 
Of manner, and of comelinesse. 
Of stature and of well set gladnesse. 
Of goodliheed, and so well besey' 
Shortly what shall I more sey ? 

I sawe her daunce so comely, 
Carol and sing so swetely, 
Laugh, and play so womanly. 
And looke so debonairly,^ 
So goodly speke^ and so friendly 
That certes I trowe that evermore, 
Nas* sene so blissful a tresore :^ 
For every here upon her head, 
Sothe to say, it was not red, 
So neither yellowe nor broune it was, 
. Me thought most like gold it was. 
And swiche eyen my lady had 
Debonaire, good, glad and sad. 
Simple, of good mokel^ and not too wide. 

And such a simple, swete speeche 
Had that swete, my lives leech. 
So friendly, and so well ygrounded, 
Upon all reason so well yfounded, 
And so tretable^ to all good. 
That I dare swere well by the wod (rood) 

1 Beseen. 

2 The measure of this poem is powerfully suggestive of Milton's 
L' Allegro. 

3 Speech. ^ Was not. ^ Treason. 6 Of good make or shape. 
' Disposed. 



136 CHAUCER. 



Of eloquence was never fonde 

So sweet a souning faconde ; 

Her throte, as I have now memorie 

Seemed as a round toure of yvorie/ 

Of good greatnesse and not too grete, 

And faire white she hete,'^ 

That was my ladies name right, 

She was thereto faire and bright, 

She had not her name wrong : 

Right faire shoulders, and body long 

She had, and arms ever lith. 

Right white hands and nailes rede, 

Round brestes, and of good brede 

Her lippes were ; 

And I dare swere well, if that she 

Had among ten thousand be, 

She would have be at the beste 

A chefe myrrour of the feste. 

The Boke of the Dutchesse, 



XV. 

A GROUP OF LADIES, AND OF KNIGHTS. 

And as I sat the birds hearkening thus. 
Me thought that I heard voices sodainly. 
The most sweetest and most delicious 
That ever any wight I trow truly 
Heard in their life, for the armony 
And sweet accord was in so good musicke, 
That the voice to angels was most like. 

1 Ivory. 2 Hight, or was called — the ladies name was Blanche. 



PAINTINGS.— FEMALE CHARACTERS. 137 

At the last, out of a grove even by, 

That was right goodly and pleasaunt to sight, 

I see where there came singing lustily 

A world of ladies ; but to tell aright 

Their great beauty, it lieth not in my might, 

Nor their array : nevertheless I shall 

Tell you a part, though I speak not of all. 

The surcotes white of velvet wele sittino- 

o 

They were in cladde : and the semes echone, 

As it were a manere garnishing, 

Was set with emerauds one and one. 

By and by ; but many a riche stone 

Was set on the purfiles* out of dout. 

Of colors, sieves, and traines round about. 

As great pearles round and orient, 
Diamonds jfine and rubies red. 
And many another stone of which I went^ 
The names now ; and everich on her head 
A rich fret of gold, which without dread^ 
Was full of stately riche stones set, 
And every lady had a chapelet 

On her head of braunches fresh and grene, 

So well wrought and so mervelously, 

That it was a noble sight to sene ; 

Some of laurer, and some full pleasantly 

Had chapelets of woodbind, and sadly 

Some of agnus casius wear also 

Chapelets fresh ; but there were many of tho 

Edging of minever or fur. ^ 2 Want. ^ Without doubt 



138 CHAUCER. 



That daunced, and eke song full sobrely, 
But all they yede in manner of compace/ 
But one there yede in mid the company, 
Sole by her selfe, but all followed the pace 
That she kepte, whose hevenly figured face 
So pleasaunt was, and her well shape person, 
That of beauty she past hem everichone. 

And more richly beseene, by many fold 
She was also in every manner thing. 
On her head full pleasaunt to behold, 
A crown of golde riche for any king, 
A. branch of agnus castus eke bearing 
In her hand : and to my sight truly. 
She lady was of all the company. 

And she began a roundell lustely. 
That " Siise lefoyJe, devers moy " men call, 
" Siene et mon joly coiier est endormy,"^ 
And then the company answered all 
With voices sweet entuned, and so small. 
That me thought it the sweetest melody 
That ever I heard in my life sothely. 

And thus they came, dauncing and singing 
Into the middes of the mead echone. 
Before the herber^ where I was sitting. 
And, God wot, methought I was wel bigone,^ 
For then I might avise^ hem one by one, 

1 Their appearance was within the bounds of ordinary beauty. 

2 The opening stanzas of an old French rondeau. 3 Arbor. 
^ In a good way. & Observe. 



PAINTINGS.— FEMALE CHARACTERS. 139 



Who fairest was, who best coud dance or sing, 
Or who most womanly was in all thing. 

They had not daunced but a little throw,^ 

When that I heard ferre off sodainly, 

So great a noise of thundering trumpes blow, 

As though it should have departed the skie ; 

And after that within a while I sie, 

From the same grove where the ladies came out, 

Of men of armes comming such a rout. 

As all the men on earth had been assembled 
In that place ; wel horsed for the nones, 
Storing" so fast, that all the earth trembled : 
But for to speke of riches and of stones. 
And men and horse, I trow the large wones^ 
Of Pretir John, ne all his tresory 
Might not unneth have boght the tenth party 

Of their array, who so list heare more, 

I shall rehearse, so as I can, a lite. 

Out of the grove, that I spake of before, 

I sie come first, all in their clokes white 

A company, that ware for their delite, 

Chapelets fresh of okes seriall, 

Newly sprong, and trumpets wore they all. 

On every trumpe hanging, a broad banere 
Of fine tartarium were full richely bete. 
Every trumpet his lords armes here. 
About their neckes with great pearles sete 
Collers broad, for cost they would not lete, 

A little while 2 Driving. ^ Heaps. 



240 CHAUCER. 



As it would seem, for their schochones^ echone, 
Were set about with many a precious stone. 

Their horse harneis was alle white also, 
And after them next in one company, 
Came kings of armes, and no mo, 
In clokes of white cloth of gold richely ; 
Chaplets of greene on their heads on high, 
The crowns that they on their schochones bare 
Were set with pearl, with ruby and saphere. 

And eke great diamondes every one : 

But all their horse harneis and other geare 

Was in a sute according everichone, 

As ye have heard the foresaid trumpets were ; 

And by seeming they were nothing to lere** 

And their judging they did so manerly 

And after hem came a great company 

Of heraudes^ and pursevauntes eke 

Arraied in clothes of white velvet, 

And hardily they were nothing to seke, 

How they on them should the harneis set ; 

And every man had on a chapelet ; 

Scochones and eke harneis indeed, 

They had in sute of hem that 'fore hem yede. 

Next after hem came in armour bright 
All save their heades, seemely knights nine, 
And every claspe and naile, as to my sight. 
Of their harneis were of red golde fine, 

1 Escutcheons. 2 They had nothing to learn. 3 Heralds and Pursuivants,- 



PAINTINGS.— FEMALE CHARACTERS. 141 

With cloth of gold; and furred with ermine 
Were the trappoures' of their steedes strong, 
Wide and large, that to the ground did hong. 

And every bosse of bridel and paitrell^ 
That they had, was worth, as I would wene, 
A thousand pound ; and on their heades well 
Dressed were crownes of laurer grene. 
The beste made that ever I had seene. 
And every knight had after him riding 
Three henchmen on him awaiting. 

Of which every first, on a short truncheon 
His lordes helme bare, so richly dight, 
That the worst was worthe the ransoun 
Of any king ; the second a shield bright 
Bare at his backe ; the thred^ bare upright 
A mighty spere, full sharpe ground and kene, 
And every childe ware of leaves grene 

A fresh chapelet upon his haires bright ; 
And clokes fine of white velvet they ware, 
Their steedes trapped and arraied right 
Without difference, as their lordes were ; 
And after hem on many a fresh corsere 
There came of armed knights such a rout, 
That they bespread the large field about. 

And all they ware after their degrees 
Chapelets newe made of laurer grene, 
Some of the oke, and some of other trees, 

Trappings. 2 Breast-plate. 3 The third. 



142 CHAUCER. 



Some in their bonds bare boughes shene/ 
Some of laurer, and some of okes kene, 
Some of hauthorne, and some of the woodbind 
And many mo which I had not in mind. 

And so they came, their horses freshly stering, 
With bloody sownes of hir trompes loud ; 
There sie I many an uncouth disguising 
In the array of these knightes proud ; 
And at the last as evenly as they coud, 
They took their places in middes of the mede, 
And every knight turned his horses hede 

To his fellow, and lightly laid a spere 

In the rest; and so justes began 

On every part, about, here and there ; 

Some brake his spere, some drew down hors and marj 

About the tieldes astray the steedes ran ; 

And to behold their rule and governaunce, 

I you ensure it was a great pleasaunce. 

And so the justes last an houre and more ; 
But tho,^ that crowned were in laurer grene, 
Wan the prise : their dintes^ were so sore, 
That there was none ayenst hem might sustene, 
And the justing all was left ofFclene, 
And fro their hors the ninth alight anone 
And so did all the remnaunt everichone. 

And forth they yede"* together, twain and twain 
That to behold, it was a worthy sight; 
Toward the ladies on the greene plain, 

Shining. 2 Those. 3 Blows. * Rode. 



PAINTINGS.— FEMALE CHARACTERS. 143 



That sung and danced as I said now right :^ 

The ladies as soone as they goodly might 

They brake of both the song and daunce, 

And yede^ to meet hem with full glad semblaunce.^ 

And every lady took full womanly 

By the bond a knight, and forth they yede 

Unto a faire laurer that stood fast by, 

With leaves lade the boughes of great brede ;* 

And to my dome" there never was indede 

Man, that had seene halfe so faire a tree ; 

For underneath there might it well have be 

An hundred persons at their own pleasaunce 
Shadowed fro the heat of Phebus bright, 
So that they should have felt no grevaunce 
Of raine ne haile that hem hurte mio-ht, 
The savour, eke, rejoice would any wight 
That had be sike or melancholious ; 
It was so very good and virtuous. 

And with great reverence they inclined low 
To the tree so soot*' and faire of hew. 
And after that within a little throw. 
They began to sing and daunce of new. 
Some song of love, some plaining of untrue. 
Environing the tree that stood upright ; 
And ever yede a lady and a knight. 

The Flower and the Leaf. 

Note to Paintings. — Female Characters. — We cannot more 
appropriately close this division of our selections from Chaucer, 

1 Just now. 2 Went. 3 Cheerful demeanor. 

4 Breadth. ^ Jud;jrment. c Sweet. 



144 CHAUCER. 



than by quoting a portion of an indignant outbreak, against thos« 
who asperse the character of woman, contained in " A Praise ol 
Women." This Poem is usually printed with Chaucer's works 
and was considered genuine, till the judicious Tyrwhitt investet 
it with doubts. And although this eminent critic is of the opinior 
that it ought not to be imputed to him, considering it as he 
does, " A part of the heap of rubbish added by John Stowe to the 
edition of 1561,"^ yet we cannot but observe in it many of thej 
characteristic peculiarities both of style and thought, which dis- 
tinguish Chaucer. At all events, and if it be a forgery, it willl 
still serve as an illustration of Chaucer, since the copyist was 
obliged to conform as closely as possible to the sentiments of the 
author whom he counterfeited. 

All tho that list of women evil to speke, 
And sain of hem worse than they deserve, 
I pray to God that hir neckes to breke, 
Or on some evil death mote the janglers^ sterve ; 
For every man were holden hem to serve 
And do hem worship, honour, and servise, 
In every manner that they best coud devise. 



For we ought first to think on what manere 

They bring us forth, and what pain they endure 

First in our birth, and sitte^ fro yere to yere, 

How busely they done their busie cure,^ 

To keepe us fro every misaventure 

In our youth whan we have no might 

Our selfe to keepe, neither by day nor night. 

1 Tyrwhitt's account of Chaucer's Works. 

2 May the praters perish. 3 Since. ^ Care or occupation. 



PAINTINGS.— FEMALE CHARACTERS. 145 



AlaSj how may we say on hem but wele/ 

Of whom we were yfostered and ybore, 

And ben all our succour, and ever true as Steele, 

And for our sake full oft they succour sore ; 

Without women were all our joy lore,^ 

Wherefore we ought all women to obey 

In all goodnesse, I can no more say. 

Lo ! what gentilnesse these women have, 
If we coud know it for our rudenesse 
How busie they be us for to keepe and save 
Both in heale, and also in sicknesse, 
And alway right sorrie for our distresse : 
In every manner, thus shew they routh,' 
That in hem is all goodnesse and truth. 

And sith we find in hem gentillnesse and trouth, 
Worship, bouiatie, and kindnesse evermore, 
Let never this gentillnesse throgh your slouth 
In hir kind trouth be aught forlore, 
That in v/oman is, and hath ben full yore, 
For in reverence of the Heaven's Queene, 
We ought to worship all women that beene. 

For of all creatures that ever wer gat and borne, 
This wote we wele, a woman was the best ; 
By her recovered was the bliss that we had lorne, 
And through the woman shall we come to rest, 
And ben ysaved, if that our selfe lest;"* 
Wherefore me thinketh, if that we had grace, 
We oughten honor women in every place. 

I How may we say other than well of them. 2 Lorn, or undone. 

3 Pity 4 Choose. 

8 



146 CHAUCER. 



Therefore I rede,^ that to our lives end, 

Fro this time forth, while that we have space, 

That we have trespassed pursue"* to amend. 

Praying our ladie well of alle grace 

To bring us unto that blissful place. 

There as she and all good women shall be in fere^ 

In Heaven above, among the angels clere. 

1 Advise. ~ Strive. ^ in companionship. 



III. 

PAINTINGS-MASCULINE CHAHACTERS. 



I. 

LYCURGE. 

There mayst thou se coming with Palamon 
Lycurge himself, the grete King of Thrace : 
Blake was his herd, and manly was his face. 
The cercles of his eyen in his hed, 
They gloweden betwixen yelwe and red, 
And like a griffon looked he about, 
With kemped^ haires on his browes stout: 
His limmes gret, his braunes^ hard and stronge, 
His shouldres brode, his armes round and longe. 
And as the guise was in his contree, 
Full high upon a chair of gold stood he, 
With four white bolles in the trais.^ 
Instead of cote-armure on his harneis, 
With nailes yelwe, and bright as any gold, 
He hadde a beres skin, cole-blake for old. 
His longe here was kempt behind his bak 
As any ravens fether it shone for blake. 

» Combed. 2 Muscles. 3 Traces. 



148 CHAUCER. 



A wreath of gold arm-gret/ of huge weight, 

Upon his head sate ful of stones bright, 

Of fine rubins and diamants."^ 

About his chair their wenten white alauns,' 

Twenty and mo, as gret as any stere, 

To hunten at the leon or the dere, 

And folwed him, with moseP fast ybound, 

Colored with gold, and torettes^ filed round. 

An hundred lordes had lie in his route, 

Armed full well, with hertes sterne and stout. 

The Knightes Tale. 



E M E T R I U S . 

With Arcita, in stories as men find. 

The great Emetrius the King of Inde, 

Upon a stede bay, trapped in stele, 

Covered with cloth of gold, diapred" wele, 

Came riding like the god of armes Mars. 

His cote-armure was of a cloth of Tars,^ 

Couched® with perles, white and round and grete. 

His sadel was of brent gold new ybcte ; 

A mantelet^ upon his should res hanging 

Bret-ful of rubies red, as fire sparkling. 

His crispe hair like ringes was yronne. 

And that was yelwe, and glittered as the sonne. 

^As thick as the arm. ~ Rubies and diamonds. 3 Mastiff dogs. •* Muzzle. 

5 Rings, similar to those now used on horse-harness, and which were 
ranged ox filed around the collars of dogs for the purpose of fastening the 
hawk's leash to the jesses. 

6 Figured. '> A kind of silk. s Inlaid. » A mantle. 



PAINTINGS.— MASCULINE CHARACTERS. 149 



Ilis nose was high, his eycn bright citrin, 

His lippes round, liis colour was sanguin,' 

A fevve frakncs''' in his face ysj^reint,^ 

Betwixcn yelwc and blaci^e sorndel yrncint,* 

And as a Icon ho his loking caste. 

His herd was wel begonncn for to spring, 

His vois was as a tronipe ti)ondorinf. 

Upon liis licad lie wearcd of laurer grene 

A gerlond fresshe and lusty for to sene. 

Upon his hand he bare for his dcduit^ 

An egle tame, as any lilly white. 

An hundred lordes had he with him there. 

All armed save hir hedes in all hir^ere. 

Full richely in alle manere thinges. 

For trusteth well, that erles, dukes, and kinges 

Were gathered in this noble companie, 

For love, and for encrease of chevalrie, 

About this king ther ran on every part, 

Full many a tame leon and leopart. 

The Knight es Tale. 



III. 

MIRTH. 

Full faire was Mirthe, full long and high, 
A fairer man I never sif^h :" 

o 

As round as apple was his face, 

Full roddie and white in every place : 



1 He was fair complexioned. 2 Freckles. 

3 Sprinkled. 4 Mingled. 

5 Pleasure or delight. e Saw. 



150 CHAUCER. 



Fetis he was and wel besey/ 
With meetly mouth and eyen gray. 
His nose by measure wrought full right, 
Crispe was his haire and eke full bright : 
His shoulderes of a large brede,^ 
And smallish in the girdlestede :^ 
He seemed like a purtreiture, 
So noble he was of his stature, 
So faire, so jolly, and so fetise. 
With limmes wrought at point devise, 
Deliver," smart, and of great might : 
Ne saw thou never man so light. 
Of beard unneth he had nothing, 
For it was in the firste spring ; 
Full yong he was, and merry of thought, 
And in samette, with birdes wrought. 
And with gold beaten full fetously, 
His bodie was clad full richely : 
Wrought was his robe in straunge gise, 
And all to-slittered for queinteise 
In many a place, low and hie, 
And shode he was with great maistrie. 
With shoon decoped, and with lace ; 
By druerie, and by solace,^ 
His lefe*^ a rosen chapelet 
Had made, and on his head it set. 
And wete ye who was his lefe 
Dame Gladnesse there was him so lefe. 
That singeth so well with glad corage. 
That from she was twelve year of age, 

1 Of a fine appearance. 2 Breadth. 3 The waist. 

4 Active. s Out of gallantry and sport. c His love. 



PAINTINGS.— MASCULINE CHARACTERS. 151 

She of her love graunt' him made : 

Sir Mirth her by the finger hade 

Dauncing, and she him also ; 

Great love was atwixt them tvi'o, 

And both were faire and bright of hewe. 

The Romaunt of the Rose. 



IV. 

TROILUS. 

This Troilus sat on his baie steed 

All armed, save his head, full richely, 

And wounded was his horse, and gan to blede, 

On which he rode a pace full softely : 

But such a knightly sight truely 

As was on him, was nat withouten faile 

To loke on Mars, that god is of battaile. 

So like a man of armes, and a knight, 
He was to seen, fulfilled of high prowesse, 
For both he had a body, and might 
To doen gret thing, as well as hardinesse, 
And eke to seen him in his geare dresse, 
So fresh, so yong, so weldy seemeth he, 
It was an heaven upon him for to see. 

His helme to hewen was in twenty places 

That by a tissue hong, his backe behind. 

His shelde to dashed with swerdes and with maces, 

In which men might many an arrow find, 

1 Gift. 



152 CHAUCER. 



That thirled' had both horn, nerfe," and rind : 
And aye the people cried " Here comes our joie, 
And next his brother, helder up of Troie." 

For which he wext a little redde for shame, 
Whan he so heard the people upon him crien. 
That to behold it was a noble game. 
How soberliche he cast adoun his eyen : 



In suffisaunce,3 in blisse, and in singings 
This Troilus gan all his life to lede, 
He spendeth, jousteth, and maketh feestings, 
He giveth freely oft, and chaungeth wede,* 
He helde about him alway out of drede 
A world of folke, as come him wel of kind^ 
The freshest and the best he coulde find. 

In alle needes for the townes werre 
He was, and aye, the first in armes dight, 
And certainly but if that bookes erre, 
Save Hector, most ydradde^ of any wight, 
And this increase of hardinesse and might 
Come him of love, his ladies' thanke to win 
That altered his spirit so within. 

In time of truce on hauking would he ride, 
Or els hunt bore, beare or lioun. 
The smalle bestes let he gon beside. 
And whan that he come riding into toun, 

1 Pierced. 2 Nerve. 3 Enjoyment, 

4 Garments. ^ Such as became his birth. ^ Dreaded. 



PAINTINGS.— MASCULINE CHARACTERS. 153 



Full oft his ladie from her window doun, 
As fresh as faucon, comen out of mew, 
Full redely was him goodly to salue. 

Troilus and Creseide. 



V. 

A PARISH CLERK. 

Now was ther of that chirche a parish clerk, 
The which that was ycleped^ Absolon. 
Crulle'^ was his here, and as the gold it shone, 
And strouted as a fanne large and brode : 
Full streight and even lay his joly shode, 
His rode was red, his eyen grey as goos. 
With Poules^ windows corven on his shoes ; 
In hosen red he went full fetisly. 
Ycladde he was full small and properly 
All in a kirtle of a light watchet ; 
Full faire and thicke ben the pointes set, 
And thereupon he had a gay surplise. 
As white as is the blosme upon the rise.* 

A merry child he was, so God me save ; 
Wei coud he letten blood, and clippe and shave, 
And make a chartre of iond, and a quitance. 
In twenty manners coud he trip and daunce 
(After the scole of Oxenforde tho). 
And with his leoj^es casten to and fro : 

DO J 

1 Called. 2 Curled. 

3 T Warton thought that this phrase applied to any device or ornament. 
Tyrwhitt supposes that the " shoes were cut in squares like panes of glass.'* 

4 Hawthorn-bush. 

8* 



154 CHAUCER. 



And playen songs on a small ribible ; 
Thereto he song sometime a loud quinible, 
And as well coude he play on a giterne. 
In all the toun n'as brewhous ne taverne, 
That he ne visited with his solas/ 
There as that any galliard' tapstere was. 

The Milleres^Tale. 

1 Mirth. 2 Gay. 



IV. 
NARRATIVE POETRY. 

I. 

THE YOUNG MARTYR. 

Ther was in Asie, in a gret citie, 

Amonges Cristen folk a Jewerie,^ 

Sustened by a lord of that, contree 

For foule usure, and lucre of villanie, 

Hateful to Criste, and to his compagnie : 

And thurgh the strete men mighten ride and wend, 

For it was free, and open at either ende. 

A littel scole of Cristen folk ther stood 
Doun at the farther ende. in which ther were 
Children an hepe comen of Cristen blood. 
That lerned in that scole yere by yere, 
Swiche maner doctrines as men used there : 
This is to say, to singen and to rede. 
As smalle children don in hir childhede 

Among thise children was a widewes sone, 
A litel clergion, sevene yere of age, 

> A district appropriated to Jews. 



156 CHAUCER. 



That day by day to scole was his wone,i 
And eke also, whereas he sey the image 
Of Cristes moder, had he in usage 
As him was taught, to knele adoun, and say, 
Ave Marie as he goth by the way. 

Thus hath this widewe hire litel sone ytaught 
Our blissful Lady, Cristes modere dere, 
To worship aye, and he forgate it naught : 
For sely^ child wol alway sone lere.^ 
But aye, when I remembre on this matere, 
Seint Nicholas stant* ever in my presence, 
For he so yong to Crist did reverence. 

This litel childe his litel book lerning, 
A.S in the scole he sate at his primere, 
He Alma redemptoris herde singe. 
As children lered hir antiphonere :^ 
And as he dorst, he drow him nere and nere, 
And hearkened ay the wordes and the note. 
Till he the firste verse coude'' all by rote. 

Nought wist he what this Latin was to say, 
For he so yong and tend re was of age : 
But on a day his fellow gan he pray 
To expounden him this songe in his langage, 
Or telle him why this songe was in usage : 
This prayde he him to construe and declare, 
Full often time upon his knees bare. 

His felaw, that which elder was than he, 

1 Custom. 2 Simple. 3 Learn. 

■* Stands. ^ Their hymns or anthems. ^ Knew. 



NARRATIVE POETRY. 157 



Answered him thus : This song, I have herd say, 

Was maked of our blissful Lady free, 

Hire to salue, and eke hire for to pray 

To ben our help, and succour when we dey. 

I can no more expound in this matere : 

I lerne song, I can but small grammere. 

And is this song maked in reverence 
Of Cristes moder ? said this innocent ; 
Now certes I wol do my diligence 
To con it alle, or Cristemasse be went^ 
Though that I for my primer shall be shent,'' 
And shal be beten thries^ in an hour, 
1 wol it conne, our Ladie for to honour. 

His felaw taught him homeward privily 
Fro day to day, till he coude it by rote, 
And then he song it wel and boldely 
Fro word to word according with the note : 
Twies a day it passed through his throte. 
To scoleward and homeward whan he wente : 
On Cristes moder set was his entente. 

As I have said, throughout this Jewerie 
This litel child as he came to and fro, 
Full merily than wold he sing and crie, 
O Alma redemptoris, ever mo : 
The swetenesse hath his herte persed* so 
Of Cristes moder, that to hire to pray 
He cannot stint of singing by the way. 

Be past. 2 Punished. 3 Thrice. ^ Pierced. 



158 CHAUCER. 



Our firste foe, the serpent Sathanas, 
That hath in Jewes herte his waspes nest, 
Up swale' and said, O Ebraike peple, alas ! 
Is this to you a thing that is honest. 
That swiche a boy shall walken as him leste 
In your despite, and sing of swiche sentence, 
Which is again our lawes reverence ? 

From thennesforth the Jewes han conspired 
This innocent out of the world to chace : 
An homicide" therto han they hired. 
That in an alleye had a privee place, 
And as the child gan forthby to pace, 
This cursed Jew him hent,^ and held him fast, 
And cut his throte, and in a pit him cast. 

I say that in a wardrope* they him threwe. 
Where as this lewes purgen their entraille. 
O cursed folk, of Herodes alle newe, 
What may your evil entente you availle ? 
Mordre wol out, certein it wol not faille. 
And namely ther*^ the honour of God shall sprede : 
The blood outcrieth on the cursed deed. 

O martyr souded" in virginitee, 
Now mayst thou singe, and folwen ever in on 
The white lamb celestiall, quod she, 
Of whicli the great Evangelist Seint John 
In Pathmos wrote, which sayth that they that gon 
Beforn this lamb, and singe a song al newe. 
That never fleshly woman they ne knewe. 

' Up-swelled. 2 a murderer. 3 Seized. 

4 A house of office— a privy. ^ Thereby. e Consolidated. 



NARRATIVE POETRY. 150 



This poure widewe awaiteth all that night 
After hire litel childe, and he came nought : 
For which as sone as it was dayes light, 
With face pale of drede and busy thought, 
She hath at scole and elleswher him sought, 
Till finally she g^n so far espie. 
That he last seen was in the Jewerie. 

With mothers pitie in hire brest enclosed 
She goth, as she were halfe out of hire minde, 
To every place, wher she hath supposed 
By likelihed hire litel child to finde : 
And ever on Cristes moder meke and kinde 
She cried, an at the laste thus she wrought. 
Among the cursed Jewes she him sought. 

She freyneth,^ and she praieth pitously 
To every Jew that dwelleth in thilke place, 
To tell hire, if hire childe went ought forthby : 
They sayden, nay ; but Jesu of his grace 
Yave in hire thought, within a litel space, 
That in that place after hire sone she cried, 
Ther he was casten in a pit beside. 

O grete God, that parfourmest thy laude 
By mouth of innocentes, lo here they might ! 
This gemme of chastitee, this emeraude. 
And eke of martyrdom the ruble bright, 
Ther he with throte ycorven'^ lay upright. 
He Alma redemptoris gan to singe 
So loude, that all the place gan to ringe. 

1 Asketh. 2 Cut. 



160 CHAUCER. 



The Cristen folk, that through the strete went, 
In comen, for to wondre upon this thing : 
And hastily they for the provost sente. 
He came anon withouten tarrying, 
And herieth^ Crist, that is of heven king, 
And eke his moder, honour of mankind, 
And after that the Jewes let he bind. 

This childe with pitous lamentation 
Was taken up, singing his song alway : 
And with honour and gret procession. 
They carrien him unto the next abbey. 
His mother swouning by the here lay ; 
Unnethes might the people that was there 
This newe Rachel bringen fro his here. 

With torment and with shameful deth eche on 
This provost doth thise Jewes for to sterve,^ 
That of this mordre wiste, and that anon ; 
He n'olde^ no swiche cursedness observe : 
Evil shal he have, that evil wol' deserve. 
Therefore with wilde hors he did hem drawe, 
And after that he heng hem by the lawe. 

Upon his here ay lith^ this innocent 
Beforn the auter^ while the masse last : 
And after that, the abbot with his covent" 
Han spedde hem for to berie him full fast : 
And whan they holy water on him cast. 
Yet spake this child, when spreint'' was the holy water. 
And sang, O Alma redemptoris mater. 

^ Praiseth. - Perish. 3 Would not. 

^ Lieth. 5 AlUr. ^ Convent. ' Sprinkled- 



NARRATIVE POETRY. 161 



This abbot which that was an holy man, 
As monkes ben, or elles ought to be, 
This yonge child to conjure he began, 
• And said ; O dere child, I halse' thee 
In vertue of the holy Trinitee, 
Tell me what is thy cause for to sing, 
Sith that thy throte is cut to my seeming. 

My throte is cutte unto my nekke-bone 
Saide this child,- and as by way of kinde 
I shuld have dyed, ye longe time agon : 
But Jesu Crist, as ye in bookes finde, 
Wol that his glory last and be in minde. 
And for the worship of his modre dere, 
Yet may I sing O Alma loude and clere. 

This welle of mercie, Cristes moder swete, 
I loved alway, as after my conning : 
And whan that I my lif should forlete,^ 
To me she came, and bade me for to sing 
This antem veraily in my dying. 
As ye han herde, and, whan that I had songe 
Methought she laid a grain upon my tongue. 

Wherefore 1 sing, and sing I mote^ certain 
In honour of that blissful maiden ^vee, 
Til fro my tongue, of taken is the grain. 
And after that thus saide she to me ; 
My litel childe, then wol I fetchen thee. 
Whan that the grain is fro thy tong ytake : 
Be not aghast, I wol thee not forsake 

Conjure. 2 Give over, or quit. 3 Must. 



162 CHAUCER. 



This holy monk, this abbot him mene I, 
His tongue out caught, and toke away the grain : 
And he yave up the gost full softely. 
And whan this abbot had this wonder sein, 
His sake teres trilled^ adoun as rein : 
And groff^ he fell all platte"" upon the ground, 
And still he lay, as he had ben ybound. 

The covent lay eke upon the pavement 
Weping and herying Cristes moder dere. 
And after that they risen, and forth ben went, 
And toke away this martir fro his here, 
And in a tombe of marble stones clere, 
Enclosen they his litel body swete : 
Ther he is now, God lene* us for to mete. 

The Prioresses Tale. 



II. 

A RESURRECTION.^ 

This Knight 
During the time slept not a night, 
Such was his wo and his disease. 
For doubt he should the queene displease. 

1 Trickled. 2 Prostrate. s Flat. 

< Where he is now God lend, that we may mete. 

6 A knight having betrothed himself to the queen of a certain island, 
departs from her to make preparations for their nuptials, promising to re- 
turn by a certain time. Being prevented, by untoward circumstances, 
from returning at the promised time, the lady fancies that he has proved 
unfaithful, and overcome by shame and disappointment, dies. Our narra- 
tive commences with the knight's return. 



NARRATIVE POETRY. 163 

Forth goeth the ship with such spede 

Right as the prince for his great nede 

Desire would after his thought, 

Till it unto the yle him brought ; 

Where in haste upon the sand, 

He and his people tooke the land, 

With hertes glad and chere light, 

Weening to be in Heaven that night : 

But or^ they passed a while, 

Entering in toward that yle 

All clad in blacke with cheere piteous, 

A lady which never dispitious'^ 

Had be in all her life tofore,^ 

With sory chere, and herte to tore. 

Unto this prince where he gan ride, 

Come and said, " Abide, abide. 

And have no hast, but fast retourne. 

No reason is ye here sojourne, 

For your untruth hath us discried ;* 

Wo worth*^ the time we us allied 

With you, that are so soone untrew, 

Alas the day that we you knew ! 

Alas the time that ye were bore ! 

For all this lond by you is lore,® 

Accursed be he you hider brought, 

For all your joy is turned to nought." 
" Alas, madame," quoth then this knight. 

And with that from his horse he light. 

With colour pale, and cheekes lene, 
" Alas what is this for to mene ? 



1 Ere. 2 Violently angry. 3 Before. 

■* Destroyed. ^ Unhappy be ! ^ Lorn. 



164 CHAUCER. 



What have ye said, why be ye wroth ; 
You to displease I would be loth ; 
Know ye not well the promesse 
I have made to your princesse, 
Which to parfourm is mine intent, 
So mote I speed as I have meant, 
And as I am her very true, 
Without change or thought new, 
And also fully her servand. 
As creature or man livand^ 
May be to lady or princesse, ' 
For she mine Fleaven, and whole richesse 
Is, and the lady of mine heale,^ 
My worldes joy and all my weale ; 
What may this be, whence corns this speche. 
Tell me, madame, I you beseech. 
For sith the first of my living, 
Was I so fearful of no thing, 
As I am now to heare you speke. 
For dout I feele mine herte breake :" 
" Alas" (quod she), " that ye were bore 
For, for your love this land is lore ; 
The queene is dead and that is routh,* 
For sorrow of your great untrouth. 
For whan the time ye set was past, 
The queen to counsaille sone in hast. 
What was to do, and said great blame. 
Your acquaintance cause would and shame, 
And the ladies of their avise^ 
Prayed, for need was to be wise 

1 Servant. 2 Living. 3 Health. 

4 Pity, 5 Advice. 



NARRATIVE POETRY. 165 

In eschewing tales and songs, 
That of them make would ille tongues. 
For every wight of them would say 
Their closed yle an open way 
Was now become to every wight, 
And well approved by a knight, 
Which he, alas, without paysaunce,^ 
Had soone achieved thobeisaunce i"^ 
All this was moved at consell thrise, 
And concluded daily twise. 
That bet was die without blame 
Than lose the riches of their name ; 
This knight then in armes twain 
This lady took and gan her saine,^ 
"Alas my birth, wo worth my life," 
And even with that he drew a knife 
And through gowne, doublet, and shert, 
He made the blood come from his herte, 
And set him doune upon the greene. 
And full repenf* closed his eene, 
And save that once he drew his breath, 
Without more, thus he tooke his death. 
For which cause his lusty host, 
Which in a battaille^ on the coast, 
At once for sorrow such a cry, 
Gan rere^ thorou the company. 
That to the Heaven heard was the sowne. 
And under the earth also far downe ; 
That wild beasts for the feare 
So sodainly afrayed were, 

1 Resistance. 2 Obedience. 3 Began to say to her. 

■* Full of repentance. 5 Which were embattled. 6 Rise. 



166 CHAUCER. 



That for the doubt, while they might dure,' 
They ran as of their lives unsure, 
From the woods unto the plaine. 
And from the valleys the high mountains 
They sought, and ran as beastes blind, 
That cleane forgotten had their kind. 

Then said the lordes of this host, 
And so concluded least and most, 
That they would ever in houses of thacke,^ 
Their lives lead, and weare but blacke, 
And forsake all their pleasaunces. 
And turn all joy to penaunces, 
And bear the dead prince to his barge. 
And named them should have the charge ; 
And to the hearse where lay the queen 
The remenaunt went, and down on kneen. 
Holding their hands on high can cry 
" Mercy, mercy, everich thrie,"^ 
And cursed the time that ever slouth 
Should have such masterdome of trouth ; 
And to the barp-e a lono;e mile 
They bare her forth, and in a while 
Put and brought were all anon 
Unto a city closed with stone. 
Where it had been used aye* 
The kings of the land to lay, 
After they reigned in honours, 
And writ was which were conquerours ; 
And all the night, till it was day, 
The people in the church con pray 

1 Endure. 2 Thatch. 

3 Everlasting three — referring to the Trinity. 

4 It had ever been the custom. 



NARRATIVE POETRY. 167 

Unto the holy Trinity, 

Of those soules to have pity. 

And when the night past and ronne 
Was, and the newe day begonne, 
The yong morrow with rayes red. 
Which from the Sunne over all gan spred, 
Attempred clere was and faire, 
And made a time of wholesome air ; 
Befel a wonder case and strange, 
Among the people, and gan change 
Soone the word and every woo. 
Unto a joy, and some to two : 
A bird all fedred blew and greene, 
With bright rayes like gold betweene, 
As small thred over every joynt. 
All full of colour strange and coint,' 
Uncouth and wonderful to sight, 
Upon the queene's herse con light, 
And sung ful lowe and softely. 
Three songs in hire harmony, 
Unletted^ of every wight ; 
Till at the last an aged knight, 
Which seemed a man in great thought, 
Like as he set all thing at nought, 
With visage and eyen all forwept,^ 
And pale, as man long unslept, 
By the hearses as he stood. 
With hasty hondling* of his hood 
Unto a prince that by him past, 
Made the bridde somewhat agast ; 
Wherefore she rose and left her song, 

1 Quaint. 2 Unhindered. 3 Swollen with weeping. ^ Doffing. 



168 CHAUCER. 



And depart^ from us among, 

And spred her winges for to passe 

By the place he entred was. 

And in hir haste, shortly to tell. 

Him hurt, and backeward downe he fell, 

From a window richly peint^ 

With lives of many divers seint, 

And bete his wings and bled fast 

And of the hurt thus died and past, 

And lay there well and houre or more ; 

Till at the last of briddes a score 

Come and sembled at the place 

Where the window broken was. 

And made swiche waimentacioun,^ 

That pity was to hear the sowne. 

And the warbles of their throtes, 

And the complaint of their notes, 

Which from joy cleane was reversed. 

And of them one the glass sone persed. 

And in his beake of colours nine. 

An herbe he brought flourelesse, all grene, 

Full of smalle leaves and plaine. 

Swart* and long with many a vaine ;^ 

And where his fellow lay thus dede 

This hearbe down laid by his hede 

And dressed it full softily, 

And hong his head and stood thereby ; 

Which herbe in lesse than halfe an houre 

Gan over all knit, and after floure^ 

Full out and wexe ripe the seed, 

1 Departed. 2 Painted. ' Lamentation. 

4 Dark colored. ^ Flowered. 



NARRATIVE POETRY. 169 



And right as one another feed 
Would, in his beake lie tooke the graine, 
And in his fellowes beake certaine 
It put, and thus within the third' 
Up stood, and pruned him the bird, 
Which dead had be in all our sight, 
And botli togither forth their flight 
Tooke singing from us, and their leve'^ 
Was non disturben would, ne greve ; 
And when they parted were and gone, 
Th' abbesse the seeds soone echone 
Gadred had, and in her hand 
The herb she tooke, well avisand^ 
The leafe, the seed, the stalke, the floure, 
And said it had a good savour, 
And was no common herb to find. 
And well approved of uncouth kind, 
And than other more vertuouse ; 
Whoso have it might, for to use 
In his need, flowre, leafe, or graine, 
Of thire heale might be certaine : 
And laid it downe upon the herse 
Where lay the queene, and gan reherse 
Eche one to other that they had scene, 
And taling* thus the sede waxen greene, 
And on the dry herse gan spring. 
Which me thought a wondrous thing ; 
And after that floure^ and new seed, 
Of which the people all tooke heed, 
And said, it was some great miracle 

1 Third hour or quarter hour. 2 Desire. 3 Observing. 

4 Discoursing. s Flowers. 

9 



170 CHAUCER. 



Or medicine fine more than triacle, 

And were well done there to assay 

If it might ease in any way, 

The corses, which with torch light, 

They waked had there alle that night, 

Soone did the lords there consent. 

And all the people thereto content. 

With easie words and little fare. 

And made the queenes visage bare. 

Which showed was to all about, 

Wherefore in swoune fell whole the rout, 

And were so sory, most and least. 

That long of weping they not ceast. 

For of their lord the remembraunce 

Unto them was such displeasaunce, 

That for to live they called a paine 

So were they very true and plaine,^ 

And after this the good abbesse. 

Of the grains gan choose and dresse 

Three, with her fingers clene and small, 

And in the queenes mouth by tale,''' 

One after other full easily, 

She put and full ccnningly. 

Which shewed soone such vertue. 

The preved was the medicine true, 

For with a smiling countenaunce 

The queene uprose, and of usaunce 

As she was wont to every wight 

She made good cheer, for which sight, 

The people kneeling on the stones. 

Thought they in Heaven were soule and bones ; 



1 Sorrowful. 2 Count. 



NARRATIVE POETRY. 171 

And to the prince where he lay, 
They went to make the same assay ; 
And when the queene it understood, 
And how the medicine was good, 
She prayed she might have the graines 
To releve him from the paines 
Which she and he had both endured, 
And to him went and so him cured, 
That within a little space. 
Lusty and fresh on live^ he was, 
And in good hele,'' and hole of speeche, 
And lough,^ and said, " Gramercy* leech," 
For which the joy throughout the town, 
So great was that the bels sowne 
Afraied*^ the people, a journay. 
About the city every way, 
^ And come and asked cause and why 
They rongen were so statelily. 

And thus when passed was the sorrow, 
With mickel joye soone on the morrow, 
The kinge, the queene, and every lord, 
With all the ladies by one accord, 
A generall assembly 
Great cry through the country. 
The which after as their intent 
Was turned to a parlement. 
Where was ordained and avised, 
Everything and devised. 
That please might to most and least,* 

1 Alive. 2 Health. 3 Laughed. 

4 Grand-mercie — many thanks. s Aroused. 

« That might give pleasure to great and small. 



172 CHAUCER. 



And there concluded was, the feast 
Within the yle to be hold 
With full consent of young and old ; 
And shipped and thither went 
And into straunge realmes sent, 
To kings, queenes, and duchesses. 
To divers princes and princesses 
Of their linage, and can pray 
That it might like them at that day 
Of mariage, for their sport. 
Come see the yle, and them disport, 
Where should be joustes and turnaies 
And armes' done in other waies ; 
Signifying over all, the day 
After April within May.'^ 

The morrow come, and the service 
Of mariage, in such a wise 
Said was, that with more honour, 
Was never prince ne conquerour 
Wedde, ne with such company, 
Of gentilnesse in chivalrie, 
Ne of ladies so great routes^ 
Ne so beseen as all abouts 
They were there, I certifie 
You on my life withouten lie. 
And the feast hold was in tentis,^ 
As to tell you mine intent is, 
I a roomy, large plaine 
Under a wood in a champaine, 
Betwixt a river and a welle. 
Where never had abbay, ne selle^ 

1 Deeds of arms. 2 May-day. 3 Assemblages. 

4 Tents. 5 Cell. 



NARRATIVE POETRY. 173 

Ben, ne kirke, house, ne village 
In time of any mans age : 
And dured- three months the feast, 
In one estate^ and never cesed. 
From early the rising of the Sunne 
Till the day spent was and yronne, 
In justing, dauncing and lustinesse, 
And all that sovvned to gentilnesse. 

Chaucer's Dream. 



III. 

FABLE OF THE CROW. 

Whan Phebus dwelled here in earth adoun, 

As olde bookes maken mentioun. 

He was the moste lusty bachelor 

Of all this world, and eke the best archer. 

He slow^ Phiton the serpent as he lay 

Sleeping agains the sonne upon a day ; 

And many another noble worthy dede 

He with his bow wrought, as men mowen* rede. 

Playen he coude on every minstralcie, 
And singen, that it was a melody 
To heren of his clere voice the soun, 
Certes the king of Thebes, Amphioun, 
That with his singing walled the citee, 
Coud never singen half so wel as he. 
Therto* he was the semelieste man 
That is or was, sithen" the world began ; 
What nedeth it his feature to descrive ? 

> Endured. 2 Condition. 3 Slew. 

* May. 5 In addition. « Since. 



174 CHAUCER. 



For in this world n'is non so faire on live. 
He was therewith fullfilled of gentillnesse, 
Of honour, and of parfitte worthinesse. 

Now had this Phebus in his hous a crowe, 
Which in a cage he fostred many a day, 
And taught it speken, as men techei a jay. 
White was this crowe, as is a snow-white swan, 
And contrefete the speeche of every man 
He coude, whan he shulde tell a tale. 
Therewith in all this world no nightingale 
Ne coude by an hundred thousand deP 
Singen so wonder merily and wel. 

Now had this Phebus in his hous a wife, 
Which that he loved more than his life. 
And night and day did ever his diligence 
Hire for to please, and don hire reverence : 
Save only, if that I the soth^ shall sain. 
Jealous he was, and wold have kept her fain, 
For him were loth yjaped* for to be ; 
And so is every wight in swiche degree : 
But all for nought, for it availeth nought. 
A good wif, that is clene of werke and thought, 
Should not be kept in non await^ certain : 
And trewely the labour is in vain 
To kepe a shrewe, for it will not be. 
This hold 1 for a veray nicetie,^ 
To spillen labour for to kepen wives ; 
Thus writen olde clerkes in hir lives. 

But now to purpos, as I first began. 
This worthy Phebus doth all that he can 
To plesen hire, wening through swiche pleasaunce, 

J Teach. 2 Times. 3 Truth. 4 Tricked. 

6 Should not be kept watch upon. « True folly. 



NARRATIVE POETRY. 175 

And for his manhood and his governance, 
That no man shulde put him from hire grace : 
But God it wote, ther may no man embrace 
As to destreine^ a thinge, which that nature 
Hath naturelly set in a creature. 

Take any brid, and put it in a cage, 
And do all thine entente, and thy corage, 
To fostre it tenderly with mete and drinke 
Of all daintees that thou canst bethinke. 
And kepe it alle so clenely as thou may ; 
Although the cage of gold be never so gay. 
Yet had this brid, by twenty thousand fold, 
Lever^ in a forest, that is wilde and colde, 
Gon eten^ wormes, and swiche wretchednesse. 
For ever this brid will don his besiness 
To escape out of his cage whan that he may: 
His libertee the brid desireth aye. 

Let take a cat, and fostre hire with milke 
And tendre flesh, and make hire couch of silke. 
And let hire see a mous go by the wall. 
Anon she weiveth* milke and flesh and all, 
And every daintee that is in that house, 
Swiche appetite hath she to ete the mous. 
Lo, here hath kind hire domination 
And appetite flemeth^ discretion. 

This Phebus, which that thought upon no gile, 
Deceived was for all his jolitee ; 
For under him another hadde she, 
A man of litel reputation, 
Nought worth to Phebus in comparison : 
The more harme is ; it happeth often so ; 

1 Constrain. 2 Rather. 3 Go eat. 

< Forsaketh. s Banisheth. 



176 CHAUCER. 



Of which ther cometh mochel harme and wo. 

And so befell, when Phebus was absent, 
His wif anon hath for hire lemman sent. 
Hire lemman ? certes that is a knavish speeche. 
Foryeve it me, and that I you beseeche. 

The wise Plato sayth, as ye may rede, 
The word must needs accorden^ with the dede, 
If men shuln^ tellen proprely a thing. 
The word must cosin be to the working. 
I am a boistous' man, right thus say I ; 
There is no difference trewely 
Betwix a wif that is of high degree, 
(If of hire body dishonest she be) 
And any poure wenche, other than this 
(If so be they werken both amis) : 
But, for the gentil is in estat above, 
She shall be cleped' his lady and his love ; 
And, for that other is a poure woman, 
She shall be cleped his wenche and his lemman : 
And God it wote,^ mine owen dere brother 
Men lay as low that one, as lith^ that other. 

Whan Phebus wif had sent for hire lemman, 
Anon they wroughten all hir lust volage.^ 
This white crowe, that heng ay in the cage, 
Beheld hir werke, and sayde never a word : 
And whan that home was come Phebus the lord, 
This crowe song, " Cuckow, cuckow, cuckow." 

What ? brid, quod Phebus, what song singest thou now ? 
Ne were thou wont so merily to sing. 
That to my herte it was a rejoysing 



1 Agree. 2 Should or would. 3 Rough. ■* Called. 

6 The colloquialism " God knows" ^ Lieth. 
' Their giddy lust. 



NARRATIVE POETRY. 177 



To here thy voice ? alas ! what song is this ? 

By God, quod he, I singe not amis. 
Phebus (quod he), for all thy worthinesse, 
For all thy beautee, and all thy gentilnesse, 
For all thy song, and all thy minstralcie, 
For all thy waiting,' blered is thine eye, 
With one of litel reputation, 
Not worth to thee as in connparison 
The mountance'^ of a gnat, so mote I thrive, 
For on thy bedde thy wif I saw him swive.^ 
What wol you more ? the crowe anon him told, 

By sade tokenes, and by wordes bold, 

How that his wif had done his lecherie 

Him to gret shame,* and to great vilanie ; 

And told him oft, he sawe it with his eyen. 
This Phebus gan away ward for to wrien f 

Him thought his woful herte brast atwo. 

His bowe he bent, and set therin a flo,^ 

And in his ire he hath his wif yslain : 

This is the effect, ther is no more to sain. 

For sorwe of which he brake his minstralcie, 

Both harpe and lute, giterne, and sautrie ; 

And eke he brake his arwes, and his bowe ; 

And after that thus spake he to the crowe. 
Traitour, quod he, with tongue of scorpion 

Thou hast me brought to my confusion . 

Alas that I was wrought ! why n'ere I dede ? 
O dere wif, o gemme of lustyhede,' 

That were to me so sade and eke so trewe, 
Now liest thou ded with face pale of hewe, 

1 Watching. 2 Value. 3 Defile. ■* To his great shame 

6 To turn, 6 An arrow. ' Pleasure-. 



178 CHAUCER. 



Full gilteles, that durst I swere ywis. 
O rakel' bond, to do so foul a mis.'' 
O troubled wit, o ire reccbeles^ 
Tbat unavised smitest gilteles. 

wantrust,^ ful of false suspicion, 
Wber was tby wit and thy discretion ? 
O, every man beware of rakelnesse,^ 

Ne trowe® no thinge withouten strong witnesse. 
Smite not too sone, ere that ye weten why. 
And beth avised wel and sikerly,' 
Or^ ye do any execution 
Upon your ire for suspecion. 
Alas ! a thousand folk hath rakel ire 
Fully fordon,^ and brought hem in the mire, 
Alas ! for sorwe I wol myselven sle. 
And to the crowe, O false thefe, said he, 

1 wol thee quite^° anon thy false tale. 
Thou song whilom, like any nightingale. 
Now shalt thou, false thefe, thy song forgon, 
And eke thy white fethers everichone, 

Ne never in all thy life ne shalt thou speke ; 
Thus shul men on a traitour ben awreke. 
Thou and thin offspring ever shul be blake, 
Ne never swete noise shul ye make. 
But ever crie ageins" tempest and rain. 
In token that through thee my wif is slain. 

And to the crowe he stert,'^ and that anon, 
And pulled his white fethers everichone. 
And made him blak, and raft^^ him all his song 



» Rash hand. 


2 Wrong. 


3 Reckless. 


4 Distrust or jealousy. 


6 Rashness. 


6 Believe. 


7 Surely. 


8 Before. 


9 Undone. 


10 Requite. 


11 Against. 


12 Started. 


w Bereft. 









NARRATIVE POETRY. 179 

And eke his speche, and out at dore him flung 
Unto the devil, which I him betake ; 
And for this cause ben alle crovves blake. 
Lordings, by this example, I you pray, 
Beth ware, and taketh kepe what ye say ; 
Ne never telleth man in all your lif. 
How that another man hath dight his wif ; 
He wol you haten mortally, certain. 
Dan Solomon, as wise clerkes sain, 
Techeth a man to kepe his tonge well ; 
But as I said, I am not textuel. 
But natheles^ thus taughte me my dame ; 
My sone, thinke on the crowe a* Goddes name. 
My sone, kepe wel thy tonge, and kepe thy frend ; 
A wicked tonge is werse than a fiend : 
My sone, from a fiend men may hem blesse. 
My sone, God of his endeles goodenesse 
Walled a tonge with teeth, and lippes eke. 
For man shuld him avisen^ what he speke. 
My sone, full often for too mochel speche 
Hath many a man ben spilt, as clerkes teche ; 
But for a litel speche avisedly 
Is no man shent,* to speken generally. 
My sone, thy tongue shuldest thou restreine 
At alle time, but whan thou dost thy peine 
To speke of God in honour and prayere. 
The first vertue, sone, if thou wolt lere,^ 
Is to restreine, and kepen wel thy tongue ; 
Thus leren children, whan that they be yonge. 
My sone, of mochel speking evil avised, 

1 Nevertheless. 2 in. 3 Consider. 

■* Hurt 5 Learn. 



180 CHAUCER. 



Wher lesse speking had ynough suffised, 

Cometh mochel harme : thus was me told and taught ; 

In mochel speche sinne wanteth naught. 

Wost thou whereof a rakel tonge serveth ? 

Right as a swerd forcutteth and forkerveth 

An arme atwo, my dere sone, right so 

A tonge cutteth frendship all atwo. 

A jangler^ is to God abhominable, 

Rede Salomon, so wise and honourable, 

Rede David in his Psalmes, rede Senek, 

My sone, speke not, but with thyn hed thou beck, 

Dissimule'"' as thou were defe, if that thou here 

A janglour speke of perilous matere. 

The Fleming sayth, and lerne if that thee lest,' 

That litel jangling causeth mochel rest. 

My sone, if thou no wicked word hast said, 

Thee then not dreden for to be bewraied ;* 

But he that hath missaid, I dare wel sain, 

He may by no way clepe" his word again. 

Thing that is sayed is sayed, and forth it goth. 

Though him repent, or be him never so loth. 

He is his thrall, to whom that he hath sayd 

A tale, of which he is now evil apaid. 

My sone, beware, and be non aucthour newe 

Of tidings, whether they ben false or trewe ; 

Wher so thou come, amonges high or lowe, 

Kepe wel thy tongue, and thinke upon the crowe. 

The Manciples Tale. 

A prater or slanderer. 2 Dissemble. 3 Choose. 

Discovered. s Call 



NARRATIVE POETRY. 181 

IV. 

DEATH AND THE THREE RIOTERS. 

In Flandres whilom was a compagnie 

Of yong folke, that haunteden' folie, 

As hasard,^ riot, stewes,' and tavernes ; 

Whereas with harpes, lutes, and^giternes, 

They dance and plaie at dis* bothe day and night, 

And ete also, and drinke over their might ; 

Through which they don the devil sacrifice 

Within the devils temple, in cursed wise, 

By superfluitee abhominable. 

Hir othes ben so gret and so damnable, 

That it were grisly^ for to here hem swere. 

Our blissful lordes body they to-tere ; 

Hem thought the Jewes rent him not ynough ; 

And eche of hem at others sinne lough.® 

And right anon in comen tombesteres'' 
Fetis and small, and yonge fruitesteres® 
Singers with harpes, baudes, wafereres,9 
Which ben the veray devils officeres. 
To kindle and blow the fire of lecherie. 
That is annexed unto glotonie. 

These riotoures three of which I tell 
Long erst or prime rong of any bell 
Were set hem in a taverne for to drinke : 
And as they sat, they herd a belle clinke 
Beforn a corpse, was caried to his grave : 
That one of hem gan callen to his knave, 

1 Frequented. 2 Gaming. 3 Bawdy houses. 

■* Dice. 5 Dreadful. 6 Laughed. 

3" Dancing women. e Fruit women. » Female cake vender. 



182 CHAUCER. 



Go bet/ quod he, and axe redily, 

What corps is this, that passeth here forth by : 

And loke that thou report his name wel. 

Sire, quod the boy, it nedeth never a del ; 
It was me told or ye came here two houres ; 
He was parde an old felaw of youres, 
And sodenly he was yslain to-night, 
Fordronken^ as he sat on his benche upright, 
Ther cam a privee thief, men clepen Deth, 
That in this countree alle the peple sleth, 
And with his spere he smote his herte atwo, 
And went his way withouten wordes mo. 
He hath a thousand slain this pestilence ; 
And, maister, or ye come in his presence, 
Me thinketh that it were ful necessarie, 
For to beware of swiche an adversarie ; 
Beth redy for to mete him evermore. 
Thus taughte me my dame, I say no more. 

By Seinte Marie, sayd this tavernere. 
The child sayth soth, for he hath slain this yere 
Hence over a mile, within a gret village. 
Both man and woman, child, and hind, and page 
I trowe his habitation be there : 

Ye !' Goddes armes, quod this riotour, 
Is it sv/iche* peril with him for to mete ? 
I shall him seke by stile and eke by strete. 
I make a vow by Goddes digne bones. 
Hearkeneth, felawes, we three ben alle ones : 
Let eche of us hold up his bond to other, 
And eche of us becomen others brother, 
And we wol slen^ this false traitour Deth ; 

' Go, you had better. « Very drunken. 3 Yea. 

* Such. 5 stay. 



NARRATIVE POETRY. 183 

He shall be slain, he that so many sleth, 
By Goddes dignitee, or it be night. 

Togeder han' thise three hir trouthes plight 
To live and dien eche of hem for other, 
As though he were his owen boren^ brother. 
And up they stert al dronken in this rage, 
And forth they gon towardes that village. 
Of which the taverner had spoke beforn, 
And many a grisly oth then have they sworn, 
And Cristes blessed body they to-rent, 
Deth shall be ded, if that we may him hent.' 

When they had gon not fully halfe a mile, 
Right as they would ban trodden over a stile, 
An olde man and a poure with hem mette. 
This olde man ful mekely hem grette,* 
And sayde thus : Now, lordes, God you see.^ 

The proudest of these riotoures three 
Answered agen ; What ? cherl, with sory grace, 
Why are thou all forwrapped® save thy face ? 
Why livest thou so long in so grete age ? 

This olde man gan loke in his visage. 
And sayde thus ; For^ I ne cannot finde 
A man, though that I walked into Inde, 
Neither in citee, ne in no village. 
That wolde change his youthe for mine age ; 
And therefore mote® I ban mine age still 
As longe time as it is Goddes will. 
Ne deth, alas ! ne will not ban my life. 
Thus walke I like a restlesse caitif. 
And on the ground, which is my modres gate, 

1 Have. 2 Born. 3 Catch. 

■* Greeted them. ^ " God save you." « Wrapped up. 

' Because. « Must. 



184 CHAUCER. 



I knocke with my staf, erlich^ and late, 
And ay to hire, Leve^ mother, let me in. 
Lo how I vanish, flesh 'and blood and skin. 
Alas ! whan shal my bones ben at reste ? 

But, sirs, to you it is no curtesie 
To speke unto an olde man vilanie,^ 
But* he trespase in word or elles in dede. 
In holy writ ye may yourselve rede ; 
Ageins an olde man, hore upon his head, 
Ye should arise ; therefore I yeve you rede, 
Ne doth^ unto an olde man harme no. 
No more than that ye would a man did you 
In age, if that ye may so long abide. 
And God be with you, where you go or ride. 
I must go thider® as I have to go. 

Nay, olde cherl, by God thou shalt not so, 
Sayde this other hasardour'^ anon ; 
Thou partest not so lightly by Seint John. 
Thou spake right now of thilke traitour Deth, 
That in this contree all our frendes sleth ; 
Have here my trouth as thou art his espie ;' 
Tell wher he is, or thou shalt it abie,' 
By God and by the holy Sacrament ; 
For sothly^" thou art on of his assent 
To slen us yonge folk, thou false thefe. 

Now, sires, quod he, if it be you so lefe 
To finden Deth, tourne up this croked way, 
For in that grove I left him, by my fay,^' 
Under a tree, and ther he wol abide ; 



1 Early 


2 Dear 


3 Vilely. 


4 Unless. 


5 Do not. 


6 Thither. 


7 Gambler. 


8 Spy. 


9 Abide. 


Truly. 


11 By my faith. 





NARRATIVE POETRY. 185 

Nor for your boast he wol him nothing hide. 
See ye that oak ? right ther ye shal him find. 
God save you, that bought agen mankind, 
And you amende ; thus sayde this olde man. 

And everich' of thise riotoures ran, 
Till they came to the tree, and ther they found 
Of floreins fine of gold ycoined round, 
Wei nifrh an ei^hte bushels, as hem thouo;ht : 
No longer as than after Deth they sought. 
But eche of hem so glad was of the sight, 
For that the floreins ben so faire and bright. 
That doun they sette hem by the precious hord.^ 
The worste of hem, he spake the firste word, 

Brethren, quod he, take kepe what I shal say ; 
My wit is gret, though that I bourde^ and play. 
This tresour hath fortune unto us yeven, 
In mirth and jolite our life to liven. 
And lightly as it cometh, so wol we spend. 
Ey, Goddes precious dignitee, wno wend 
To-day, that we shuld han so fair a grace ? 
But might this gold be caried fro this place 
Hom to myn hous, or elles unto youres 
(For wel I wote that all this gold is cures), 
Thanne were we in high felicitee. 
But trewely by day it may not bee ; 
Men wolden say that we were theeves strong, 
And for our owen treasour don us hong.* 
This tresour must y caried be by night, 
As wisely and as sleighly as it might. 
Wherefore I rede, that cut among us alle 
We drawp, and let see wher the cut wol falle : 
And he that hath the cut, with herte blith 

Every one. 2 Hoard. 3 jest. ■* Cause us to be hung. 



186 CHAUCER. 



Shal rennen to the town, and that full swith,^ 
And bring us bred and wine full privily ; 
And two of us shall kepen subtilly 
This treasour wel : and if he wol not tarien, 
Whan it is night, we wol this treasour carien 
By on assent, wher as us thinketh best. 

That one of hem the cut brought in his fest,' 
And bad hem drawe and loke wher it wold falle, 
And it fell on the yongest of hem alle ; 
And forth toward the toun he went anon. 

And al so sone as that he was agon, 
That on of hem spake thus unto that other ; 
Thou wotest wel thou art my sworen brother 
Thy profit wol I tel thee right anon. 
Thou wost^ wel that our felaw is agon, 
And here is gold, and that full great plentee, 
That shall departed* ben among us three. 
But natheless, if I can shape it so. 
That it departed ben among us two, 
Had I not don a frendes turn to thee ? 

That other answered, I n'ot^ how that may be : 
He wote wel that the gold is with us tweye. 
What shuln we don 1 what shuln we to him seye ? 

Shal it be conseil V sayd the firste shrewe : 
And I shall tellen thee in wordes fewe 
What we shuln don, and bring it wele aboute. 

I grante, quod that other, out of doute, 
That by my trouth I wol thee not bewraie. 

Now, quod the first, thou wast wel we ben tweie, 
And tweie of us shall strenger be than one. 

1 Swiftly. 2 Fist. 3 Wottest or knowest. 

4 Divided ^ Know not. e Fellow-counsel. 



NARRATIVE POETRY. 187 



Loke, whan that he is set, thou right anon 
Arise, as though thou woldest with him play ; 
And I shall rive^ him through the sides tway. 
While that thou stroglest with him as in game, 
And with thy dagger loke thou do the same ; 
And than shall all this gold departed be, 
My dere frend, betwixen thee and me : 
Than moun^ we bothe our lustes all fulfille, 
And play at dis right at our owen wille. 
And thus accorded ben thise shrewes tweye, 
To slen the thridde, as ye han herd me seye. 

This yongest, which that wente to the toun 
Ful oft in herte he rolleth up and doun 
The beautie of these floreins newe and bright. 
O Lord, quod he, if so were that I might 
Have all this treasour to myself alone. 
There n'is no man that liveth under the trone^ 
Of God, that shulde live so mery as I. 
And at the last, the fiend our enemy 
Putte in his thought, that he shuld poison beye,* 
With which he mighten slen his felaws tweye. 
For why, the fend fond^ him in swiche living, 
That he had leve to sorwe him to bring. 
For this was outrely ^ his ful entente 
To slen hem both, and never to repente. 

And forth he goth, no longer would he tary, 
Into the toun unto a Potecary, 
And praied him that he him wolde sell 
Som poison, that he might his ratouns'' quell. 
And eke ther was a polecat in his hawe,® 



» Split. 2 May. 3 Throne. ■* Buy. 

s Found. 6 Utterly. 'Rats. s Yard. 



188 . CHAUCER. 



That, as he sayd, his capons had yslawe ; 
And fayn he wold him wreken, if he might, 
Of vermine, that destroied hem by night. 

The Potecary answered, Thou shalt have 
A thing, as wisly God my soule save, 
In all this world ther n'is no creature, 
That ete or dronke hath of this confecture, 
Not but the mountance of a corne of whete, 
That he ne shal his life anon forlete ; ^ 
Ye, sterve he shal, and that in lesse while 
Than thou wolt gon a pas not but a mile ; 
This poison is so strong and violent. 

This cursed man hath in his bond yhent 
This poison in a box, and swithe^ he ran 
Into the nexte strete unto a man, 
And borwed of him large botelles three ; 
And in the two the poison poured he ; 
The thridde he kepte cleane for his drinke, 
For all the night he shope him for to swinke® 
In carying of the gold out of that place. 

And when this riotour, with sory grace, 
Hath filled with win his grete botelles three, 
To his felawes agen repaireth he. 

What nedeth it thereof to sermon more ? 
For right as they had cast his deth before 
Right so they ban him slain, and that anon. 
And whan that this was don, thus spake that one ; 
Now let us sit and drinke, and make us merry, 
And afterward we wiln his body berry. 
And with that word it happed him par cas,* 
To take the botelle, ther the poison was, 

Quit. 2 Swiftly. s Labor. ■* By chance. 



NARRATIVE POETRY. 189 

And dronke, and yave his felaw drinke also, 
For which anon they storven ^ bothe two. 

But certes I suppose that Avicenne 
Wrote never in no canon, ne in no fenne,'* 
Mo' wonder signes of empoisoning. 
Than had thise wretches two or hir ending, 
Thus ended ben thise homicides two. 
And eke the false empoysoner also. 

The Pardoneres Tale. 



V. 

THE COCK AND THE FOX. 

A POURE widewe somdel'* stoupen in age, 

Was whilom dwelling in a narwe cotage. 

Beside a grove, stonding in a dale. 

This widewe, which I tell you of my tale, 

Sin thilke day that she was last a wif, 

In patience led a ful simple lif. 

For litel was hire cattel and hire rente ; 

By husbondry of swiche as God hire sente. 

She found herself, and eke hire doughtren two. 

Three large sowes had she, and no mo : 

Three kine, and eke a shepe that highte Malle. 

Full sorty^ was hire boure, and eke hire halle, 

In which she ete many a slender mele. 

Of poinant" sauce ne knew she never a dele. 

No deintee morsel passed through hire throte ; 

1 Perished. 

2 The name of the Sections of Avicenne's great work. — Tyrwhitt. 

3 More wondrous. 4 Somewhat bent with age. 
5 Sweet savored. e High seasoned. 



190 CHAUCER. 



Hire diete was accordant to hire cote, 

Repletion ne made hire never sike ;^ 

Attempre diet was all hire physike, 

And exercise, and hertes suffisance. 

The goute left hire nothing for to dance, 

No apoplexie shente^ not hire hed. 

No win ne dranke she, neyther white ne red : 

Hire bord was served most with white and black, 

Milk and broun bred, in which she fond no lack, 

Seinde bacon, and sometime an ey^ or twey ; 

For she was as it were a maner dey. 

A yard she had, enclosed all about 
With stickes, and a drie diche without. 
In which she had a cok highte Chaunteclere, 
In all the land of crowing n'as his pere.* 
His vois was merier than the mery organ. 
On masse dales that in the chirches gon. 
Wei sickerer^ was his crowing in his loge,® 
Than is a clock, or any abbey orloge.' 

His combe was redder than the fin corall, 
Embatteled as it were a castel wall. 
His bill was blak, and as the jet it shone ; 
Like azure were his legges and his tone f 
His nailes whiter than the lily flour. 
And like the burned gold was his colour. 

This gentil cok had in his governance 
Seven hennes, for to don all his pleasance. 
Which were his susters and his paramours. 
And wonder like to him as of colours. 
Of which the fairest hewed in the throte, 

1 Sick. 2 Hurt. 3 Egg. ■* Equal or peer. s Much truer. 

6 Lodge or coop. ' Horologe. e Toes. 



NARRATIVE POETRY. 191 

Was cleped faire damoselle Pertelote. 
Curteis she was, discrete, and debonaire, 
And compenable, and bare hireself so faire, 
Sithen' the day that she was sevennight old, 
That trewelich^ she hath the herte in hold 
Of Chaunteclere, loken in every lith,^ 
He loved hire so, that wel was him therewith. 
But swiche a joy it was to here hem sing, 
Whan that the brighte sonne gan to spring. 
In swete accord ; my lefe is fare in lond. 

For thilke time, as I have understond, 
Bestes and briddes couden speke and sing. 

And so befell, that in a dawening,* 
As Chaunteclere among his wives alle 
Sate on his perche, that was in the halle. 
And next him sate his faire Pertelote, 
This Chaunteclere gan gronen in his throte. 
As man that in his dreme is dretched^ sore. 
And when that Pertelote thus herd him rore, 
She was agast, and saide, herte dere. 
What aileth you to grone in this manere ? 
Ye ben a veray sleper, fy for shame. 

And he answered and sayde thus ; madame, 
I pray you, that ye take it not agrefe : 
By God me mette^ I was in swiche mischefe 
Right now, that yet min herte is sore affright. 
Now God (quod he), my sweven^ recche® aright, 
And kepe my body out of foule prisoun. 

Me mette, how that I romed up and doun 
Within our yerde, wher as I saw a beste, 



1 Since. 


2 Truly. 


3 Locked in every limb. 


4 Day-break. 


6 Vexed. 


6 Dreamed. 


7 Dream. 


8 Care. 





192 CHAUCER. 



Was like an hound, and wold han made areste 
Upon my body, and han had me ded. 
His colour was betwix yelwe and red ; 
And tipped was his tail, and both his eres 
With black, unlike the remenant of his heres. 
His snout was smal, with glowen eyen twey ; 
Yet for his loke almost for fere I dey : 
This caused me my groning douteles. 

Avoy,^ quod she, fy on you herteles, 
Alas ! quod she, for by that God above 
Now han ye lost myn herte and all my love ; 
I cannot love a coward by my faith. 
For certes, what so any woman saith,'^ 
We all desiren, if it mighte be. 
To have an husbond hardy, wise and free, 
And secree, and non niggard, ne no fool, 
Ne him that is agast of every tool, 
Ne non avantour^ by that God above. 
How dorsten ye for shame say to your love. 
That anything might maken you aferde ? 
Han ye no mannes herte, and han a berde ? 
Alas ! and con ye ben agast of swevenis ?* 
Nothing but vanitee, God wote, in sweven is. 

Swevenes engendren^ of repletions. 
And oft of fume, and of complexions. 
Whan humours ben to habundant in a wight. 
Certes this dreme, which ye han met to-night, 
Cometh of the grete superfluitee 
Of youre rede colera parde. 
Which causeth folke to dreden in hire dremes 



1 Away. * AVhatsoever any woman may say. 3 Boasted against. 

4 Dream &Are engendered. 



NARRATIVE POETRY. 193 

Of arvves, and of fire with redo lenies,' 
Of rede bestes, that they wol hem bite, 
Of contcke,^ and of waspes gretc and lite; 
Right as the humour of melancholic 
Causeth ful many a man in slepe to crie, 
For fere of bollcs^ and of beres blake, 
Or elles that blake devils wol hem take. 

Of other humours coud I telle also, 
That werken many a man in slepe much wo : 
But I wol passe, as lightly as I can. 

Lo Caton, which that was so wise a man, 
Said he not thus ? Ne do no force of dremes. 

Now, Sire, quod she, whan we flee fro the hemes, 
For Goddes love, as take som laxatif : 
Up percil of my soule and of my lif, 
I conseil you the best, I wol not lie, 
That both of coler, and of melancolie, 
Ye purge you ; and for ye shul not tarie, 
Though in this toun be non apotecarie, 
I shall myself two herbes techen you. 
That shall be for your hele, and for your prow ',* 
And in our yerde, the herbes shall I finde, 
The which ban of hir propertee by kinde 
To purgen you benethe and eke above. 
Sire, forgete not this for Goddes love ; 
Ye ben ful colerike of complexion ; 
Ware^ that the sonne in his ascentioun 
Ne finde you not replete of humours bote ; 
And if it do, I dare wel lay a grote, 
That ye shuln ban a fever tertiane, 

1 Flames. 2 Battles. 3 Bulls. 

* Benefit, s Beware. 

10 



194 CHAUCER. 



Or elles an ague, tliat may be your bane. 

A day or two ye shul ban digestives 

Of wormes, or ye take your laxatives, 

Of laureole,' centaurie, and funictere,^ 

Or clles of ellebore, that groweth there, 

Of catapuce,^ or of gaitre-berries,* 

Or herbe ive growing in our yerd, that mery is. 

Picke hem right as they grow, and ete hem in. 

Bethe mery, husbond, for your fader kin ; 

Dredeth^ no dreme ; I can you say no more. 

Madame, quod he, grand mercy of your lore. 
But natheles, as touching dan Caton, 
That hath of wisdome swiche a gret renoun, 
Though that he bade no dremes for to drede, 
By God, men moun in olde bookes rede, 
Of many a man, more of auctoritee 
Than ever Caton was, so mote I the, 
That all the revers sayn of his sentence, 
And ban wel founden by experience. 
That dremes ben significations 
As wel of joye, as tribulations, 
That folke enduren in this lif present. 
Ther nedeth make of this non argument ; 
The veray prove sheweth it indede. 

One of the gretest aucthours that men rede, 
Saith thus ; that whilom twey felawes wente 
On pilgrimage in a ful good entente ; 
And happed so, they came into a toun, 
Wher ther was swiche a consresfatioun 
Of people, and eke so streit of herbergage,* 

1 Spurge-laurel. 2 Fumitory, ^ Euphorbia. 

4 Dogwood berriel. ^ Dread. ^ Shelter or lodging. 



NARRATIVE POETRY. 195 

That they ne founde as moche as a cotage, 
In which they bothe might ylogged be :' 
Wherefore they musten of neccssitec, 
As for that night, dcpartcn compagnie ; 
And eche of hem got!) to his hostelrie, 
And toke his logging as it wolde fulle, 

That one of hem was logged in a stalle, 
Fer in a yerd, with oxen of the plough ; 
That other man was logged wcl ynough, 
As was his aventure, or his fortune, 
That us governeth all, as in commune. 

And so befell, that, long or it were day, 
This man met'^ in his bed, thcr as he lay. 
How that his felaw gan upon him calle, 
And said, alas ! for in an oxe's stalle 
This night shall I be mordred, ther I lie. 
Now helpe me, dere brother, or I die ; 
In alle haste come to me, he sayde. 

This man out of his slepe for fere abraide ;^ 
But whan that he was waked of his slepe, 
He turned him, and toke of it no kepe ;* 
He thought his dreme was but a vanitee. 
Thus twies in his sleping dremed he. 

And at the thridde time yet his felaw 
Came, as him thought, and said, I now am slaw:^ 
Behold my blody woundes, depe and wide. 
Arise up erly in the morwe tide, 
And at the West gate of the toun (quod he) 
A carte ful of dong ther shalt thou see, 
In which my body is hid privily. 

' Lodged. 2 Dreamed. 3 Awaked. 

4 He paid no attention to it. ^ Slain. 



196 CHAUCER. 



Do thilke carte arresten boldely. 

My gold caused my mordre, soth to sain. 

And told him every point how he was slain 

With a ful pitous face, pale of hewe. 

And trusteth well, his dreme he found ful trewe, 

For on the morwe, as sone as it was day, 

To his felawes inne he toke his way : 

And whan that he came to this oxes stalle, 

After his felaw he began to calle. 

The hosteler answered him anon, 
And saide, Sire, your felaw is agon, 
As sone as day he went out of the toun. 

This man gan fallen in suspicion 
Remembring on his dremes that he mette. 
And forth he goth, no lenger wold he lette,' 
Unto the West gate of the toun, and fond 
A dong carte, as^ it went for to dong lond. 
That was araied in the same wise 
As ye han herd the dede man devise : 
And with an herdy herte he gan to crie, 
Vengeance and justice of this felonie : 
My felaw mordred is this same night, 
And in this cart he lith, gaping upright. 
I crie out on the ministres, quod he, 
That shulden kepe and reulen this citee ; 
Harow !^ alas ! here lith my felaw slain. 

What shuld I more unto this tale sain ? 
The peple out stert, and cast the cart to ground, 
And in the middel of the dong they fond 
The dede man, that mordred was all newe. 



1 Linger. 2 As ^Aom^^ it went. 

3 An exclamation signifying vehement and clamorous grief. 



NARRATIVE POETRY. 197 

O blissful God, that art so good and trewe, 
Lo, how tiiou bewreyest^ mordre alway. 
Mordre wol out, that see we day by day. 
" Mordre is so wlatsome" and abhominable 
To God, that is so just and resonable, 
That he ne wol not suffer it hylled^ be. 
Though it abide a yere, or two, or three, 
Mordre wol out, this is my conclusioun. 

And right anon, the ministres of the toun 
Han hent tlie carter, and so sore him pined, 
And eke the hosteler so sore engined,* 
That they beknew hir wickednesse anon. 
And were anhanged by the necke bone. 

Here moun ye see that dremes ben to drede. 
But thilke tale is al to long to telle, 
And eke it is nigh day, I may not dwelle. 
Shortly I say, as for conclusion. 
That I shall han of this avision 
Adversitee : and I say forthermore. 
That I ne tell of laxatives no store. 
For they ben venemous, I wot it wel : 
I hem deffie,^ I love hem never a del. 

But let us speke of mirthe and stinte all this ; 
Madame Pertelote, so have I blis, 
Of o* thing God hath sent me large grace : 
For whan I see the beautee of your face. 
Ye ben so scarlet red about your eyen, 
It maketh all my drede for to dien. 
For, al so siker as in principio, 
Mu/ier est hominis confusio 

1 Discoverest. 2 Loathsome. 3 Hidden. 

< Racked ; pined means pained or tortured. 5 Defy. e One. 



108 CHAUCER. 



(Madame, the sentence of this Latine is 

Woman is mannes joye and mannes blis). 

For whan I fele a-night your softe side, 

Al be it that I may not on you ride. 

For that our perche is made so narwe, alas ! 

I am so ful of joye and of solas, 

That I deffie bothe sweven and dreme. 

And with that word he fleu doun fro the heme, 
For it was day, and eke his hennes alle ; 
And with a chuk he gan hem for to calle, 
For he had found a corn, lay in the yerd. 
Reap he was, he was no more aferd ; 
He fethered Pertelote twenty time, 
And trade hire eke as oft, ere it was prime. 
He loketh as it were a grim leoun. 
And on his toes he rometh up and doun, 
Him deigneth not to set his feet to ground : 
He chukketh, whan he hath a corn yfound, 
And to him rennen than his wives alle. 

Thus real, as a prince'is in his halle, 
Leve I this Chaunteclere in his pasture ; 
And after wol I telle his aventure. 

Whan that the month in which the world began, 
That highte March, whan God first maked man, 
Was complete, and ypassed were also, 
Sithen^ March ended, thritty dayes and two, 
Befel that Chaunteclere in all his pride. 
His seven wives walking him beside. 
Cast up his eyen to the brighte sonne, 
That in the signe of Taurus hadde yronne 
Twenty degrees and one, and somewhat more : 

1 Kingly. 2 since. 



NARRATIVE POETRY. 199 



He knew by kind/ and by non other lore, 
That it was prime, and crew with blissful steven.^ 
The Sonne, he said, is clomben up on heven 
Twenty degrees and one, and more ywis. 
Madame Pertelote, my worldes blis, 
Herkeneth tliise blissful briddes how they sino-, 
And see the freshe floures how they spring; 
Ful is mine herte of revel and solas. 

But sodenly him fel a sorweful cas ; 
For ever the latter end of joye is wo; 
God wote that worldly joye is sone ago : 
And if a rethor^ coude faire endite, 
He in a chronicle might it saufly write 
As for a soveraine notabilitee. 

Now every wise man let him hearken me : 
This story is al so trewe, I undertake, 
As is the book of Launcelot du lake. 
That women holde in ful gret reverence, 
Now wol I turne again to my sentence. 

A col* fox, full of sleigh^ iniquitee, 
That in the grove had wonned^ yeres three, 
By high imagination forecast,® 
The same night throughout the hegges brast^ 
Into the yerd, ther Chaunteclere the faire 
Was wont, and eke his wives, to repaire : 
And in a bedde of wortes still he lay. 
Till it was passed undern'' of the day. 
Waiting his time on Chaunteclere to falle ; 
As gladly don thise homicides alle, 

1 By instinct. 2 Voice, 

3 Writer. ^ Dog-fox, or male-fox. 5 sly. 

6 Dwelled. ' He had subsisted by means of his forecast. 

9 Burst through the hedges. a Nine o'clock. 



200 CHAUCER. 



That in await liggen to mordre men. 

Faire in the sond, to bath hire merily, 
Lith Pertelote, and all hire susters by, 
Agcin' the sonne, and Chaunteclere so free 
Sang merier than the Mermaid in the see, 
For Phisiologus sayth sikerly, 
How that they singen wel and merily. 

And so bcfel that as he cast his eye 
Among the wortes on a boterflie, 
He was ware of this fox that lay ful low. 
Nothing ne list him thanne for to crow, 
But cried anon cok, cok, and up he sterte, 
As man that was affraied in his herte. 
For naturally a beest desireth flee 
Fro his contrairie, if he may it see, 
Though he never erst^ had seen it with his eye. 

This Chaunteclere, whan he gan him espie, 
He wold han fled, but that the fox anon 
Said : gentil sire, alas ! what wol ye don ? 
Be ye aflraid of me that am your frend ? 
Now ccrtes, I were werse than any fiend, 
If I to you wold harme or vilanie. 
I n'am not come your conseil to espie. 
But trewely the cause of my coming 
Was only for to herken how ye sing : 
For trewely ye han as mery a Steven, 
As any angel hath, that is in heven; 
Therwith ye han of musike more feling. 
Than had Boece, or any that can sing. 
My lord your fader (God his soule blesse) 
And eke your moder of hire gentilnesse 
Han in myn hous yben, to my gret ese : 

i Against. 2 Before. 



NARRATIVE POETRY. 201 

And certes, sire, ful fain wold I you plese. 
But for men speke of singing, I wol sey, 
So mote I brouken' wel mine eyen twcy, 
Save you, ne herd I never man so sing. 
As did your fader in the morwening. 
Certes it was of herte all that he song. 
And for to make his vois the more strong, 
He wold so peine him, that with both his eyen 
He muste winke, so loud he wolde crien, 
And stonden on his tiptoon therewithal, 
And stretchen forth his necke long and smal. 
And eke he was of swiche discretion. 
There n'as no man in no region, 
That him in song or wisdom mighte passe. 
I have wel red in dan Burnel the asse 
Among his vers, how that there was a cok, 
That, for^ a preestes sonc yave him a knok 
Upon his legge, while he was yonge and nice, 
He made him for to lese^ his benefice. 
But certainc there is no comparison 
Betwix the wisdom and discretion 
Of youre fader, and his subtiltie. 
Now singeth,'' sire, for Saint Charitee, 
Let see, can ye your fader contrefete ? 

This Chaunteclere his winges gan to bete, 
As man that coud not his treson espie. 
So was he ravished with his flaterie. 

Alas ! ye lordes, many a false flatour^ 
Is in your court, and many a losengour,^ 
That pleseth you wel more, by my faith, 
Than he that sothfastnesse'' unto you saith. 

1 Brook or credit. 2 Because. • 3 Lose. ^ Now sing. 

6 Flatterer. « Lying flatterer. ' Truthfulness. 

10* 



202 CHAUCER. 



Redeth Ecclesiast of flaterie, 

Beth ware, ye lordes, of hise trecherie. 

This Chaunteclere stood high upon his toos 
Stretching his necke, and held his eyen cloos, 
And gan to crowen loude for the nones : 
And dan Russel the fox stert up at ones, 
And by the gargaf hente Chaunteclere, 
And on his backe toward the wood him bare. 
For yet was no man that him sued. 

O destinee, that maist not ben eschued ! 
Alas, that Chaunteclere flew fro the hemes ! 
Alas, his wif ne raughte^ not of dremes ! 
And on a Friday fell all this meschance. 

O Venus, that art the goddesse of pleasance, 
Sin that thy servant was this Chaunteclere, 
And in thy service did all his powere, 
More for delit, than world to multiplie, 
Why wolt thou suffre him on thy day to die ? 

Certes swiche cry, ne lamentation 
Na's never of ladies made, whan Ilion 
Was wonne, and Pirrus with his streite swerd 
Whan he had bent king Priam by the herd, 
And slain him (as saith us Eneidos), 
As maden all the hennes in the cloos, 
Whan they had seen of Chaunteclere the sight. 
But soverainly dame Pertelote shright,' 
Ful louder than did Hasdruballes wife. 
Whan that the Romaines hadden brent Cartage, 
She was so ful of turment and of rage. 
That willfully into the fire she sterte. 
And brent herselven with a stedfast heart. 

O woful hennes, right so criden ye, 

1 The throat. 2 Recked or cared. 3 Shrieked. 



NARRATIVE POETRY. 203 

As, whan that Nero brente the citee 
Of Rome, cried the senatoures wives, 
For that hir husbonds lostcn alle hir lives ; 
Withouten guilt this Nero had hem slain. 
Now wol I turne unto my tale again ; 
The sely widowe and hire doughtren two, 
Herden these heimes crie and maken wo. 
And out at the dores sterten they anon, 
And saw the fox toward the wode is gon, 
And bare upon his back the cok away : 
They crieden, out ! harow and wala wa ! 
A ha the fox ! and after him they ran, 
And eke with staves many another man ; 
Ran Colle our dogge, and Talbot, and Gerlond, 
And Malkin, with hire distaf in hire bond ; 
Ran cow and calf, and eke the veray hogges 
So fered' were for berking of the dogges, 
And shouting of the men and women eke, 
They ronnen so, hem thoughte hir hertes breke. 
They yelleden as fendes don in belle : 
The dokes crieden as men wold him quelle ;^ 
The geese for fere flowen over the trees. 
Out of the hive came the swarme of bees, 
So hidous was the noise, a henedicite f 
Certes he Jakke Straw, and his meinie,^ 
Ne maden never shoutes half so shrille, 
Whan that they wolden any Fleming kille, 
As thilke day was made upon the fox. 
Of bras they broughten -hemes,* and of box. 
Of horn and bone, in whiche they blew and pouped. 
And therewithal they shrieked and they houped ; 
It semed, as that the heven shulde falle. 

Affrighted. 2 Kill. 3 Company. ■« Trumpets. 



20-4 C H AUCER. 



Now, goode men, I pray you hearkeneth alle ; 
Lo, how fortune turneth sodenly 
The hope and pride eke of hire enemy. 
This cok that lay upon the foxes bake, 
In all his drede, unto the fox he spake, 
And sayde ; sire, if that I were as ye, 
Yet wolde I sayn (as wisly God helpe me), 
Turneth again, ye proude cherles alle ; 
A veray pestilence upon you falle. 
Now am I come unto the woodes side, 
Maugre^ your hed, the cok shal here abide ; 
I wol him ete, in faith, and that anon. 

The fox answered, in faith it shal be done : 
And as he spake the word, al sodenly 
The cok brake from his mouth deliverly,^ 
And high upon a tree he flew anon. 

And whan the fox saw that the cok was gon, 
Alas ! quod he. Chaunteclere, alas ! 
I have (quod he) ydon to you trespas. 
In as moche as I maked you aferd, 
AVhan I you hente, and brought out of your yerd ; 
But, sire, I did it in no wikke^ entente : 
Come doun, and I shal tell you what I mente. 
I shall say soothe"* to you, God helpe me so. 

Nay then, quod he, I shrewe'' us bothe two. 
And first I shrewe myself, both blood and bones, 
If thou begile me oftener than ones. 
Thou shalt no more thurgh thy flaterie 
Do me to sing and winkeri with myn eye. 
For he that winketh, whan he shulde see, 
Al wilfully, God never let him the. 

Nay, quod the fox, but God yeve^ him raeschance, 

J Despite. 2 Nimbly. 3 Wicked. 4 Truth. 5 Curse, e Give. 



NARRATIVE POETRY. 205 

That is so indiscrete of governance, 

That jangleth,^ whan that he shuld hold his pees. 

Lo, which it is for to be reccheles^ 
And negligent, and trust on flaterie ! 
But ye that holden this tale a folic, . 
As of a fox, or of a cok, or hen, 
Taketh" the moralitee thereof, good men. 
For Seint Poule sayth. That all that written is, 
To our doctrine it is ywritten, ywis. 
Taketh the fruit, and let the chaf be stille." 

The JVonnes Preestes Tale. 

Note to the Tale of the Cock and the Fox. — " The fable of the 
Cock and the Fox," says Tyrwhitt, " which makes the ground 
of the Nonnes Preestes Tale, is clearly borrowed from a collection 
of jEsopian and other Fables, by Marie, a French poetess." He 
then introduces her Fable because it is short, well told and rare ; 
and also " because it furnishes a convincing proof how able 
Chaucer was to work up an excellent tale out of very small ma- 
terials." 

In this tale, Chaucer's various and perpetual humor is as fa- 
vorably exhibited as in any other of his compositions ; nor will 
it suffer by a comparison with the same quality in any other 
writer or poet. His wit is not an impalpable essence — but is 
hearty, joyous, and smacks of the substantiality of every-day 
life. Now it is broad, now sly, or it is grave almost to solemnity, 
yet racking one with cachinnatory throes. His aim is not to 
keep you gay by a malignant display of the foibles of your fellow 
beings, — after the manner of that hybrid class, the orthodox sati- 
rist. For his caricatures are universally well-natured, and 
sparkle with fun rather than malice. He only departs from this, 
his natural habit, when he satirizes the variegated follies and 

J Prateth. 2 Careless. 3 Take. 



206 CHAUCER. 



crimes of the clergy ; then he speaks in the lofty language of an 
indignant Englishman, who compassionates the case of his coun- 
trymen, and detests those who would debase them. It is patriot- 
ism that directs his ridicule, but never mere malice. 

In his description of .the appearance of the Cock, he admirably 
satirizes the " rethors and minstrels " of his day, who were apt 
to employ the wildest hyperbole when recounting the array of 
their heroes. And at the same time, he happily hits off the af- 
fected magnificence, and the stateliness of the heroes themselves, 
which gave occasion to these sycophants. His subsequent de- 
scription of the " faire damosell Pertelote," — Chaunteclere's 
" worldes blis," — who was so " scarlet red about the eyen " as 
to cause all fear to vanish, and the touch of vi^hose " softe side " 
administered a fruition of " joye and of solas" — is a quiet though 
pungent ridicule of the extravagant praises which the neophytes 
of chivalry and romance were accustomed to heap upon their 
chosen ladies. 

The inclination to place great faith in dreams, which prevailed 
then as now, is also a legitimate subject of raillery. Accordingly 
a grave discussion is opened forthwith, betwixt Chaunteclere and 
his beauteous mistress ; which is more learned perhaps than 
similar gossipings of the wonder-loving and credulous, but yet is 
sufficiently amusing. Dame Pertelote, unlike females generally, 
is a confirmed sceptic ; and with blunt common sense quaintly 
asserts that, such vulgar agents as bile, or wind, or repletion, 
are far more likely to occasion dreams than any preternatural 
cause. And then, like a true woman, she recommends those pa- 
naceas which her long experience in the ills of chickenhood 
indicates. This elicits a learned and rather Indignant reply from 
her lord, who maintains his point by words of " learned length 
and thundering sound," and by the introduction of just such 
legends as dreamers of this nineteenth century are wont to use 
when proving the infallibility of their nocturnal talent. In de- 



NARRATIVE POETRY. 207 

fiance of the rule which generally governs controversies, this one 
terminates in mutual compliments ; for Chaunteclere, to cut the 
matter short, and perhaps to prevent a reply which his logical 
sensibilities dreaded, suddenly professes to be overwhelmed by the 
beauties of his lady love. A sensible plan, it must be allowed, 
which hen-pecked husbands would do well to imitate. 

Then we have a peaceful barn-yard scene, which serves to give 
a deeper coloring to the following picture of successful art and 
specious hypocrisy. Poor Chaunteclere, though startled and 
alarmed by the unwonted sight of his enemy, is first soothed and 
then miserably duped. Praised for an accomplishment to which 
he could not lay the shadow of a claim, he yet listens eagerly to 
the strain of adulation, stifling his natural antipathies, and forget- 
ting the warnings of his dream. Like many another biped, he 
was overcome by flattery, who could have successfully resisted 
a more open assault. For thus is it ever. Compliment an ugly 
man for good looks ; attribute wealth to the poor man ; ton to the 
unfashionable man ; gracefulness to the ungainly one, or mental 
superiority to the dunce : administer to the vacillating man of 
feeble purposes, the praise of steadfastness, and cause him to sup- 
pose that you think he leads and directs those whose supple tool 
he knows he is, and straightway you reach his heart and obtain 
his confidence. So, subtle Reynard found music in the shrill 
clamor of our galliard Cock, who for his part willingly lends 
himself to the pleasant delusion that he had no rival in the ange- 
lic choir. 

And this brings us to Chaucer's detail of Chaunteclere's awk- 
ward efforts at music. This description is exquisitely ludicrous, 
particularly so to those who can discern in it the graphic outlines 
of the genus singing-school-master — that biped of passage, whose 
native home is the land of steady habits, but whose haunts are to 
be discovered in every hamLet and village. This is his portrait : 



I 



208 CHAUCER. 



■ " To make his vols the more strong, 
He wold so peine him, that with both his eyen 
He muste winke, so loud he wolde crien. 
And stonden on his tiptoon therewithal, 
And stretchen forth his necke long and smal." 

The uproar in the barn-yard, which Chaunteclere's misfortune 
occasions, is admirably managed. There are few denizens of 
the country who have not witnessed its counterpart, although 
never perhaps to so mirth-moving an extent as our poet sets forth. 
Dryden's paraphrase of this stirring scene, which we now quote 
for the purpose of comparing with the original at pages 202 and 
203, appears absolutely frigid beside it. And we quell the incli- 
nation to quote more largely, which is upon us, because we have 
already dwelt at some length upon the comparative qualities of 
these two great poets, and their respective claims to genius. 

"Now to my story I return again. 
The tremblino; widow and her daughters twain, 
This woful cackling cry with horror heard, 
Of those distracted damsels in the yard ; 
And starting up beheld the heavy sight, 
How Re.ynard to the forest took his flight, 
. And cross his back, as in triumphant scorn, 
The hope and pillar of the house was borne. 
The fox, the wicked fox, was all the cry. 
Out from his house ran every neighbor nigh ; 
The vicar first, and after him the crew. 
With forks and staves the felon to pursue ; 
Ran Coll our dog, and Talbot with the band, 
And Malkin, with her distaff in her hand; 
Ran Cow and Calf, and family of hogs, 
In panic horror of pursuing dogs, 



NARRATIVE POETRY. 209 

With many a deadly grunt and doleful squeak, 

Poor swine, as if their pretty Iiearts would break. 

The sliouts of men, the women in dismay. 

With shrieks augment the terror of the day. 

The ducks that lieard the proclamation cry'd 

And fear'd a persecution miglit betide. 

Full twenty mile t>om town their voyage take, 

Obscure in rushes of the liquid lake. 

The geese fly o'er the barn ; the bees in arms. 

Drive headlong from their waxen cells in swarms. 

Jack Straw, at London Stone with all his rout, 

Struck not the city with so loud a shout : 

Not when with English hate they did pursue 

A Frenchman, or an unbelieving Jew : 

Not when the welkin rung with one and all : 

And echoes bounded back from Fox's hall : 

Earth seem'd to sink beneath, and heaven above to fall. 

With might and main they chas'd the murd'rous fox, 

With brazen trumpets and inflated box, 

To kindle Mars with military sounds 

Nor wanted horns t'inspire sagacious hounds." 

Dryden's Cock and Fox. 



VI. 

HUGELIN OF PISE. 

Of the erl Hugelin of Piss the langour 
Ther may no tonge tellen for pitee. 
But litel out of Pise stant a tour. 
In which tour in prison yput was he, 



210 CHAUCER. 



And with him ben his litel children three, 
The eldest scarsely five yere was of age : 
Alas ! fortune, it was gret crueltee 
Swiche briddes for to put in swiche a cage. 

Dampned^ was he to die in that prison. 
For Roger, which that bishop was of Pise, 
Had on him made a false sug-gestion, 
Through which the people gan upon him rise, 
And put him in prison, in swiche a wise, 
As ye han herd ; and mete and drinke he had 
So smale, that wel unneth it may suffise, 
And therewithal it was ful poure and bad. 

And on a day befell, that in that houre, 
Whan that his mete wont was to be brought, 
The gailer shutte the dores of the toure ; 
He hered it wel, but he spake right nought. 
And in his herte anon ther fell a thought. 
That they for hunger wolden do him dien '^ 
Alas ! quod he, alas that I was wrought ! 
Therewith the teres fellen fro his eyen. 

His yonge sone, that three yere was of age,. 
Unto him said, fader, why do ye wepe ? 
Whan wil the gailer bringen our potage ? 
Is ther no morsel bred that ye do kepe ? 
I am so hungry that I may not slepe. 
Now wolde God that I might slepen ever, 
Than shuld not hunger in my wombe crepe ; 
Ther n'is no thing, sauP bred, that me were lever.* 

Condemned, 2 Cause him to die. 3 gave or except. 

That were dearer to me. 



NARRATIVE POETRY. 211 

Thus day by day this childe began to crie, 
Til in his fadres barme' adoun it lay, 
And saide ; farewel, fader, I mote' die ; 
And kist his fader, and dido the same day. 
And whan the woful fader did it sey,^ 
For wo his amies two he gan to bite, 
And saide, alas ! fortune, and wala wa ! 
Thy false whele my wo all may I wite/ 

His children wenden,* that for hunger it was 

That he his armes gnowe,^ and not for wo, 

And sayden ; fader, do not so, alas ! 

But rather ete the flesh upon us two. 

Our flesh thou yaf '^ us, take our flesh us fro, 

And ete ynough : right thus they to him seide, 

And after that, within a day or two, 

They laide hem in his lappe adoun, and deide. 

Himself despeired, eke for hunger starf, 
Thus ended is this mighty Erl of Pise : 
From high estat fortune away him carf. 
Of this tragedie it ought ynough suffice ; 
Who so wol here it in a longer wise, 
Redeth the grete poete of Itaille, 
That highte Dante, for he can it devise 
Fro point to point, not o word wol he faille. 

The Monkes Tale. 

Note to Hugelin of Pise. — It is needless to observe that the 
original of this Poem is the story of Ugolino in Dante's Inferno, 
canto 33. To this fine composition Chaucer has added several 

1 Bosom. 2 Must. 3 See. 4 May I impute to. 

6 Weened. 6 Gnaw. ' Gave. 



212 CHAUCER. 



pathetic touches. By Dante, is presented the terrific outlines of 
the sufferings of a parent, whose actions have involved himself 
and his children in irrecoverable ruin, and of a father whose 
physical tortures are lessened only by the spectacle of his chil- 
dren's ravening hunger and death. But there is scarcely a 
glimmer of affection visible ; the whole picture being dark, frozen, 
and casting a blight upon the spirit of the beholder. It wants the 
softening and elevating influence of that benign quality which 
Chaucer transfuses upon his sufferer. Twice only, does Dante's 
Ugolino seem affected by emotions more spiritual than physical 
or at best stupidly passive : at all other times he is tearless and like 
the passionless stone. Once, when the active agony of his mind 
at the sight of his children's sufferings — the passion and remorse 
engendered thereby — impelled him to pain his body that he might 
quell his struggling feelings. And again, when all his children 
lying dead before him and himself grown blind, he groped 

" Over them all, and for three days aloud 
Called on them who were dead." 

This is terrible ; this is grief in its intensity. The bereaved 
father, newly struck with blindness — having no ray from without 
to mitigate the black gloom within — strives to recall the lineaments 
of his loved ones by groping over their faces, now dank and cold 
with death. 

But if Chaucer has imbued the principal figure — the Father — 
with emotions that elevate it, and are not to be found in the 
original ; he has, in like manner, invested the children with the 
purest, the most touching filial reverence, confidence and love. 
A more special examination will maintain these assertions. 

In the opening of the original story, Ugolino is made to say of 
his children, in terms almost cold, 

" My sons (for they were with me) weep and ask 
For bread." 



NARRATIVE POETRY. 213 

As if betrayed into a touch of natural tenderness, he shortly 
afterwards calls one of them " my little Anselm." Now Chaucer, 
with the communicativeness of a kind heart, and by a simple, 
unaffected, and seemingly circumstantial narrative, at once 
awakens our sympathies, which Dante leaves untouched. Says 
he of these children, 

^ " And with him ben his litel children three, 

The eldest scarsely five yere was of age : 
Alas ! fortune, it was gret crueltee 
Swiche briddes for to put in swiche a cage." 

Thus, by his artlessness and simplicity, both the extreme youth 
of the sufferers, and the barbarous and unsuitable nature of their 
punishment, are made more apparent. 

After abruptly mentioning that one of Ugolino's sons had died, 
Dante frigidly recounts the mere physical deaths of the others — 
which also occurred in regular numerical succession. Thus : 

" When we came 
To the fourth day, then Gaddo at my feet, 
Outstretched did fling him, crying, " Hast no help 
For me, my father ?" Then he died ; and e'en 
Plainly as thou seest me, saw I the three 
Fall one by one, 'twixt the fifth day and the sixth." 

The touching description of the death of the little one " that 
three yere was of age," which Chaucer seizes this point to intro- 
duce, is altogether his own. It is one of the gems of our lan- 
guage. At the moment that this suffering innocent, in the gen- 
tleness of its nature, strives with lisping tongue to solace its 
wretched father, he unconsciously adds new fuel to the flame that 
already consumes him. For with a reproachful and soliciting 



214 CHAUCER. 



look — such an one as those who have beheld a dying infant may 
remember — he murmurs a prayer to that father for bread to sa- 
tisfy the fierce want which so destroys them all. In his infantile 
simplicity he looks confidently to his father for that protection and 
comfort he is wont to receive ; and his childish importunities add 
to the already overflowing cup of misery which is pressed to 
Ugolino's lips. The wretched father cannot relieve the wants of 
his tender child. But listen to the poet : • 

" Fader, why do ye wepe ? 
When wil the gailer bringen our potage ? 
Is ther no morsel bred that ye do kepe ? 
I am so hungry that I may not slepe : 
Now wolde God that I might slepen ever, 
Then shuld not hunger in my wombe crepe ; 
Ther n'is no thing, sauf bred, that me were lever." 

The sweet innocent having thus plained day by day, at last 

" In his fadres barme adoun it lay, 
And saide ; farewel, fader I mote die : 
And kist his fader, and dide the same day." 

Where can there be found elsewhere a more powerful exhibi- 
tion of the tenderest affection in the midst of intolerable rigors ? 
Can any father contemplate this picture and deny the "tribute of 
a tear?" Each parent will clasp his own loved ones closer to his 
bosom, and pray that if they must needs die, they may "lay 
hem in hire lappe adoun and dey," but God preserve them from 
the awful death of Ugolino de Gherardeschi's children ! 



NARRATIVE POETRY. 215 

VII. 

THE WIF OF BATHES TALE. 

In olde dayes of tlie King Artour, 

Of which that Bretons speken gret honour, 

All was this lond fullfilled of faerie ; 

The Elf-quene, with hire jolly compagnie, 

Danced ful oft in many a grcne mede. 

This was the old opinion as I rede ; 

I speke of many hundred years ago ; 

But now can no man see non elves mo,' 

For now the grete charitee and prayeres 

Of limitours and other holy freres, 

That serchen every land and every streme, 

As thikke as motes in the sonne-beam, 

Blissing halles, chambres, kichenes, and boures, 

Citees and burghes, castles highe and toures, 

Th ropes'^ and bernes, shepenes' and dairies, 

This maketh that ther ben no faeries : 

For ther as wont to walken was an elf, 

Ther walketh now the limitour himself. 

Women may now go safely up and doun. 

In every bush, and under every tree, 

Ther is non other incubus but he. 

And he ne will don hem no dishonour. 

And so befel it, that this King Artour 
Had in his hous a lusty bacheler. 
That on a day came riding fro river : 
And happed, that, alone as she was borne, 
He saw a maiden walking him beforne. 
Of which maid he anon, maugre hire hed. 
By veray force beraft hire maidenhead : 

1 No elves more. 2 Villages. 3 Stables. 



216 CHAUCER. 



For which oppression was swiche clamour, 
And swiche pursuite unto the King Artour, 
That damned was this knight for to be dead 
By cours of lawe, and shuld have lost his hed 
(Paraventure swiche was the statute tho), 
But that the queene and other ladies mo 
So longe praieden the king of grace, 
Til he his lif him granted in the place, 
And yaf him to the quene, al at hire will 
To chese^ whether she wold him save or spill. 

The quene thanketh the king with all hire might, 
And after this thus spake she to the knight, 
Whan that she saw hire time upon a day. 

Thou standest yet (quod she) in swiche array, 
That of thy life yet hast thou no seuretee ; 
I grant thee lif, if thou canst tellen me, 
What thing is it that women most desiren : 
Beware, and kepe thy nekke-bone from yren. 
And if thou canst not tell it me anon, 
Yet wol I yeve thee leve for to gon 
A twelvemonth and a day, to seke and lere'* 
An answer suffisant in this matere. 
And seuretee wol I have, or^ that thou pace. 
Thy body for to yelden in this place. 

Wo was the knight, and sorrowfully he siketh ;* 
But what ? he may not don all as him liketh. 
And at the last he chese him for to wende 
And come again right at the yeres ende 
With swiche answer, as God wold him purvay : 
And taketh his leve, and wendeth forth his way. 

He seketh every hous and every place, 
Wher as he hopeth for to finden grace, 

1 Choose. 2 Learn. 3 Before. ^ Sigheth. 



NARRATIVE POETRY. 217 

To lernen what tiling women loven moste : 
But he ne coucle ariven in no coast, 
Where as he mighte find in this matere 
Two creatures according in fere.* 
Some saiden, women loven best richesse, 
Some saiden honour, some saiden jolinesse, 
Some riche array, some saiden lust abed, 
And oft time to be widewe and to be wedde. 

Some saiden, that we ben in herte most esed 
Whan that we ben yflattered and ypraised. 
He goth full nigh the sooth,^ I will not lie ; 
A manne shall winne us best with flatterie ; 
And with attendance, and with besinesse, 
Ben we y limed bothe more and lesse. 

And some men saiden, that we loven best 
For to be free, and do right as us lest,^ 
And that no man repreve us of our vice. 
But say that we ben wise, and nothing nice. 
And some saiden, that gret delit ban we 
For to be holden stable and eke secre, 
And in o* purpose stedfastly to dwell, 
And not bewreyen thing that men us tell. 
But that tale is not worth a rake-steel. 
Parde we women connen nothing hele,^ 
Witnesse on Mid a : wol ye hear the tale ? 

Ovide, amonges other thinges smale. 
Said, Mida had under his longe heres 
Growing upon his hed two asses eres ; 
The whiche vice he hid, as he beste might, 
Full subtilly from every mannes sight. 
That, save his wif, there wist of it no mo ; 
He loved hire most, and trusted hire also ; 

J Together. 2 Truth. 3 As we list or desire. '^ One. » Hide 
1] 



218 CHAUCER. 



He praied hire, that to no creature 
She n'olde tellen of his disfigure. 

She swore him, nay, for all the world to winne, 
She n'olde do that vilanie, ne sinne, 
To make hire husbond han so foule a name ; 
She n'olde not tell it for hire owen shame. 
But natheles hire thoughte that she died, 
That she so longe shuld a conseiP hide ; 
Hire thought it swaP so sore about hire herte, 
That nedely^ som word hire must asterte ; 
And sith she dorst not telle it to no man, 
Doun to a mareis* faste by she ran. 
Til she came ther, hire herte was a-fire ; 
And as a bitore^ bumbleth in the mire. 
She laid hire mouth unto the water doun. 
Bewrey me not, thou water, with thy soun, 
Quod she, to thee 1 tell it, and no mo, 
Min husbond hath long asses eres two. 
Now is min herte all hole, now is it out, 
I might no longer kepe it out of dout. 

This knight of whiche my tale is specially, 
Whan that he saw he might not come thereby 
(This is to sayn, what women loven most), 
Within his brest ful sorweful was his gost. 
But home he goth, he mighte not sojourne. 
The day was come, that homeward must he turne. 
And in his way, it happed him to ride 
In all his care, under a forest side, 
Whereas he saw upon a dance go 
Of ladies foure and twenty, and yet mo. 
Toward this ilke dance he drow ful yerne,^ 
In hope that he some wisdom shulde lerne ; 

1 Secret. 2 Swelled. 3 Necessarily. 4 Marsh. 6 Bittern. ^ Eagerly. 



NARRATIVE POETRY. 219 

But certainly, cr he came fully there, 

Yvanishcd was this dance, he n'iste not where ; 

No creature saw he that bare lif, 

Save on the grene he saw sitting a wif, 

A fouler wight ther may no man devise. 

Againe this knight this olde wif gan rise, 

And said : sire knight, here forth ne lith no way. 

Tell me what that ye seken by your fay. 

Paraventure it may the better be : 

These olde folke con' mochel thing, quod she. 

My leve^ mother, quod this knight, certain, 
I n'am but ded, but if that I can sain, 
What thing it is that women most desire : 
Coude ye me wisse,^ I wolde quite wel your hire. 
Plight me thy trouth here in myn bond, quod she, 
The nexte thing that I require of thee 
Thou shalt it do, if it be in thy might, 
And I wol tel it you, or it be night. 

Have here my trouthe, quod the knight, I graunte. 
* Thanne, quod she, I dare me wel avaunte,* 
Thy lif is sauf,^ for I wol stond thereby. 
Upon my life the quene wol say as I : 
Let see, which is the proudest of hem alle. 
That wereth on a kerchef or a calle,° 
That dare sayn nay of that I shall you teche. 
Let us go forth withouten longer speche. 

Whan they ben comen to the court, this knight 
Said, he had hold his day, as he had hight, 
And redy was his answere, as he saide. 
Ful many a noble wif, and many a maide, 
And many a widewe, for that they ben wise. 
(The queene hireself, sitting as a justice) 

» Know. 2 Dear. 3 Teach. ■« Boast. & Safe. « Cap. 



220 CHAUCER. 



Assembled ben, his answere for to here, 
And afterward this knight was bade appear. 

To every wight commanded was silence, 
And that the knight shulde tell in audience, 
What thing that worldly women loven best. 
This knight ne stood not still, as doth a best,^ 
But to this question anon answerd 
With manly vols, that all the court it herd. 

My liege lady, generally, quod he. 
Women desiren to han soveraintee. 
As wel over hir husbond as hir love. 
And for to ben in maistrie him above. 
This is your most desire, though ye me kill, 
Doth as you list, I am here at your will. 

In all the court ne was ther wif ne maide, 
Ne widewe, that contraried that he saide, 
But said, he was worthy to han his lif. 

And with that word up stert this olde wif. 
Which that the knight saw sitting on the grene. 
Mercy, quod she, my soveraine lady queue, 
Ere that your court depart, as doth me right. 
I taught this answer unto this knight. 
For which he plighte me his trouthe there. 
The firste thing I wold of him requere, 
He wold it do, if it lay in his might. 
Before this court then pray I thee, sire knight. 
Quod she, that thou me take unto thy wif, 
For wel thou wost,'' that I have kept thy lif: 
If I say false, say nay upon thy fay.^ 

This knight answered, alas and wala wa ! 
I wot right wel that swiche was my behest. 
For Goddes love as chese a new request : 

Beast. 2 Wottest. ^ Faith. 



NARRATIVE POETRY. 221 

Take all my good, and let my body go. 

Nay then, quod she, I shrewe us bothe two. 
For though that I be oldc, foulc, and pore, 
I n'olde for all the metal ne tlie ore, 
That under erthe is grave, or lith above, 
But if thy wif I were, and eke thy love. 

My love ? quod he, nay, my dampnation. 
Alas ! tlmt any of my nation 
Shuld ever so foule disparaged be, 
But all for nougiit : the end is this, that he 
Constrained was, he nedes must hire wed, 
And taketh this old wif, and goth to bed. 

Now wolden some men sayn paraventure, 
That for my negligence I do no cure 
To tellen you the joye and all the array, 
That at the feste was that ilke day. 

To which thing shortly answeren I shall : 
I say ther was no joye ne feste at all, 
Ther n'as' but hevinesse and mochel sorwe : 
For privily he wedded hire on the morwe, 
And all day after hid him as an owl, 
So wo was him, his wif loked so foule. 

Gret was the wo the knight had in his thought, 
When he was with his wif a-bed ybrought, 
He walweth,^ and he turneth to and fro. 

This olde wif lay smiling evermo, 
And saide : O dere husbond, benedicite, 
Fareth every knight thus with his wif as ye ? 
Is this the lawe of King Artoures hous ? 
Is every knight of his thus dangerous ? 
I am your owen love, and eke your wif, 
I am she, which that saved hath your lif, 

1 Was. 2 Tumbleth. 



222 CHAUCER. 



And certes yet did I you never unright. 
Why fare ye thus with me this firste night ? 
Ye faren like a man hath lost his wit. 
What is my gilt ? for Goddes love tell it, 
And it shall be amended, if I may. 

Amended ? quod this knight, alas ! nay, nay, 
It wol not ben amended never mo ; 
Thou art so lothly, and so olde also, 
And thereto comen of so low a kind, 
That litel wonder is though I walwe and wind ; 
So wolde^ God, win herte wold brest. 

Is this, quod she, the cause of your unrest ? 

Ye certainly, quod he, no wonder is. 

Now sire, quod she, I coude amend all this, 
If that me list, er it were dayes three, 
So wel ye mighten here you unto me. 
Now sire, ye sain that I am foule and old, 
Then drede ye not to ben a cuckewold. 
For filthe, and elde also, so mote I the, 
Ben grete wardeins upon chastitie. 
But natheles, sin'^ I know your delit 
I shall fulfil your worldly appetite. 
Chese now (quod she) on^ of these thinges twey,* 
To han me foule and old till that I dey. 
And be to you a trewe humble wif. 
And never you displease in all my life : 
Or elles^ wol ye han me yong and faire. 
And take your aventure of the repaire. 
That shal be to your hous because of me, 
Or in some other place it may wel be ? 
Now chese yourselven whether® that you liketh. 

This knight aviseth him, and sore siketh,' 

i Would to God. 2 Since. 3 One. t Two. 

6 Else. e Whichever. 7 Siglieth. 



NARRATIVE POETRY. 223 

But at the last he said in this manere ; 

My lady and my love, and wif so dere, 
I put me in your wise governance, 
Cheseth yourself which may be most plesance 
And most honour to you and me also, 
I do no force the whether of the two : 
For as you liketh, it sufficeth me. 

Than have I got the maisterie, quod she, 
Sin I may chese and governe as me lest. 
Ye certes, wif, quod he, I hold it best. 

Kisse me, quod she, we be no lenger wrothe, 
For by my trouthe I wol be to you bothe, 
This is to sayn, ye bothe faire and good. 
I pray to God that I mote sterven wood,^ 
But I to you be al so good and trewe, 
As ever was wif, sin that the world was newe ; 
And but I be to-morwe as faire to scene, 
As any lady, emperice, or queen, 
That is betwix the East and eke the West, 
Doth with my lif and deth, right as you lest. 
Cast up the curtein, loke how that it is. 

And whan the knight saw vcraily all this 
That she so faire was, and so yong therto, 
For joye he hent hire in his armes two : 
His herte bathed in a bath of blisse 
A thousand time a-row he gan hire kisse : 
And she obeyed him in every thing. 
That mighte don him plesance or liking. 
And thus they live unto hir lives ende 
In parfit^ PY^y ^nd J^su Crist us sende 
Husbondes meke and yonge, and freshe abed 
And grace to overlive hem that we wed. 

» I may die mad. 2 Perfect. 



V. 

MISCELLANEOUS 



TH.E TEMPLE OF MARS. 

Why shulde I not as wel eke tell you all 
The purtreiture, that was upon the wall 
Within the temple of mighty Mars the rede ? 
All peinted was the wall in length and brede 
Like to the estres^ of the grisly^ place, 
That highte the gret temple of Mars in Trace/ 
In thilke colde and frosty region, 
Ther as Mars hath his soveraine mansion. 

First on the wall was peinted a forest, 
In which ther wonneth^ neyther man ne best, 
With knotty knarry^ barrein trees old 
Of stubbles sharpe and hidous to behold ; 
In which ther ran a romble^ and a swough,'' 
As though a storme shuld bresten every bough : 
And downward from an hill under a bent,^ 
Ther stood the temple of Mars armipotent, 

1 Inside. 2 Dreadful. 3 Thrace. ^ Dwelleth. 

6 Covered with knobs. e a rumble. ' Sound or noise. s Declivity. 



MISCELLANEOUS. 225 



Wrought all of burned stele, of which th' entree* 

Was longe and streite, and gastly for to see. 

And thereout came a rage and swiche a vise,'' 

That it made all the gates for to rise. 

The northern light in at the dore shone, 

For window on the wall ne was ther none, 

Through which men mighten any light discerne. 

The dore was all of adamant eterne,^ 

Yclenched overthwart and endelong 

With yven tough, and for to make it strong, 

Every pillar the temple to sustene 

Was tonne-gret,* of yren bright and shene. 

Ther saw I first the derke imaginins; 
Of felonie, and alle the compassing ; 
The cruel ire, red as any glede,^ 
The pikepurse, and eke the pale drede f 
The smiler with the knif under the cloke, 
The shepen'' brenning with the blake smoke ; 
The treson of the mord'ring in the bedde, * 
The open werre, with woundes all bebledde ; 
Conteke® with bloody knife, and sharp manace.® 
All full of chirking"^ was that sory place. 
The sleer of himself yet saw I there. 
His herte-blood hath bathed all his hair : 
The naile ydriven in the shode on hight, 
The colde deth, with mouth gaping upright. 
Amiddes of the temple sate mischance, 
With discomfort and sory countenance. 
Yet saw I wodenesse'^ laughing in his rage, 

1 Entry. 2 Violence. 

3 Everlasting. ^ As large round as a tun. s Live coal. 

6 Fear. ' The stable. s Contention. 

9 Threats or menaces, 'o Unpleasant sounds. " Madness. 

11* 



226 CHAUCER. 



Armed complaint, outhees,^ and fierce outrage ; 
The carrion in the bush, with throte ycorven^ 
A thousand slaine, and not of qualme ystorven ;^ 
The tyrant, with the prey by force yraft ; 
The toun destroied, ther was nothing laft. 
Yet saw I brent the shippes hoppesteres,* 
The hunte ystrangled with the wild beres : 
The sow freting^ the child right in the cradel ; 
The coke yscalled, for all his long ladel. 
Nought was foryete by th' infortune of Marte 
The carter overridden with his carte ; 
Under the wheel ful low he lay adoun. 

Ther were also of Martes division, 
Th' armorer, and the bowyer, and the smith, 
That forgeth sharpe swerdes on his stith.® 
And all above depeinted in a tour 
Saw I conquest, sitting in gret honour, 
With thilke sharpe swerd over his head 
Yhanging by a subtle twined thred. 
Depeinted was the slaughter of Julius, 
Of gret Nero, and of Antonius : 
Air be that thilke time they were unborne, 
Yet was hir deth depeinted therebeforne,® 
By manacing'^ of Mars, right by figure. 
So was it shewed in that purtreiture 
As is depeinted in the cercles above, 
Who shall be slaine, or elles ded for love. 
Sufficeth on ensample in stories olde, 
I may not recken hem alle, though I wolde. 

The statue of Mars upon a carte stood 

1 Outcries. 2 Cut or carved. ^ Not perished by sickness, 

4 The dancing ships, ^ Devouring. ^ Stithy or anvil, 

7 Albeit. s Before that. » Threatening. 



MISCELLANEOUS. -227 



Armed, and loked grim as he were wood/ 
And over his hed iher shinen two figures 
Of sterres, that ben cleped in scriptures'' 
That one Puella, that other Rubeus. 
This god of armes was arrayed thus : 
A wolf ther stood beforne him at his feet 
With eyen red, and of a man he ete : 
With subtil pensil peinted was this storie, 
In redoubting of Mars and of his glorie. 

The Knightes Talc. 



IL 
PREPARATIONS FOR A TOURNAMENT. 

Gkeat was the feste in Athenes thilke day ; 
And eke^ the lusty seson of that May 
Made every wight to ben in swiche plesance, 
That all that monday justen they and dance, 
And spenden it in Venus highe servise. 
But by the cause that they shulden rise 
Erly a-morwe for to seen the fight. 
Unto hir reste wenten they at night. 
And on the morwe when the day gan spring, 
Of hors and harneis noise and clattering 
Ther was in the hostel ries all aboute : 
And to the paleis rode ther many a route 
Of lordes, upon stedes and palfries, 

Ther mayst thou see devising* of harneis 
So uncouth and so riche, and wrought so wele 
Of goldsmithry, of brouding,^ and of stele ; 
The shieldes brighte, teste res, and trappures :* 

J Mad. 2 Writings. ^ Also or moreover. 

* Choosing. s Embroidering, " Head-pieces and trappings. 



228- - CHAUCER. 



Gold-hewen helmes, hauberkes, cote-armures ; 
Lordes in parementes^ on hir coursers, 
Knightes of retenue, and eke squires, 
Nailing the speres, and helmes bokeling, 
Gniding'^ of shieldes, with lainers^ lacing ; 
Ther as nede is, they were nothing idel : 
The fomy stedes on the golden bridel 
Gnawing, and fast the arraureres also 
With file and hammer priking to and fro ; 
Yemen on fote, and communes many on 
With shorte staves, thicke as they may gon ; 
Pipes, trompes, nakeres,* and clariounes, 
That in the bataille blowen bloody sounes ; 
The paleis ful of peple up and doun, 
Here three, ther ten, holding hir questioun, 
Devining^ of the Theban knightes two. 
Som sayden thus, som sayde il shal be so : 
Som helden with him with the blacke herd, 
Som with the balled, som with the thick haired ; 
Som saide he loked grim, and wolde fighte : 
He hath a sparth*' of twenty pound of weight. 

Thus was the halle full of devining 
Long after that the sonne gan up spring. 
The great Theseus that of his slepe is waked 
With minstralcie and noise that was ymaked, 
Held yet the chambre of his paleis riche, 
Till that the Theban knightes both yliche' 
Honoured were, and to the paleis fette.® 

Duke Theseus is at a windowe sette, 
Araied right as he were a god in trone :^ 



1 Rich clothing. 2 Rubbing. s Straps or thongs. 

4 Drums of brass, ^ Discussing. ^ An axe. 

7 Alike. 8 Brought. » Enthroned. 



MISCELLANEOUS. 229 



The peple presseth thitherward ful sons 
Him for to scene, and don high reverence, 
And eke to heri\en his heste and his sentence. 

An herald on a scaflold made an o,^ 
Till that the noise of the peple was ydo : 
And whan he saw the peple of noise all still, 
Thus shewed he the mighty dukes will. 

The lord hath of his high discretion 
Considered that it were destruction 
To gentil blood, to fighten in the guise 
Of mortal bataille now in this emprise ;' 
Wherefore to shapen that they shul not die, 
He wol his firste purpos modifie. 

No man therefore, on peine of losse of lif, 
No manner shot, ne pollax, ne short knif 
Into the listes send, or thider bring, 
Ne short swerd for to stike with point biting 
Ne man may draw, ne bear it by his side. 
Ne no man shall unto his felaw ride 
But o^ course, with a sharpe ygrounden spere : 
Foin* if him list on foot, himself to were.^ 
And he that is at meschief, shal be take, 
And not slaine, but be brought unto the stake, 
That shall be ordeined on either side, 
Thider he shall by force, and ther abide. 
And if so falle, the chevetain'' be take 
On either side, or elles sleth his make,' 
No longer shall the tourneying ylast. 
God spede you ; goth forth and lay on fast. 
With longe swerd and with mase fighteth your fill. 
Goth now your way, this is the lordes will. 

1 Cried " Oyez" 2 Cause. 3 One. ■» Push or pass. 

6 To defend. ^ Chieftain. ' Mate. 



230 CHAUCER. 



The vois of the peple touched to the heven, 
So loude cried they with mery steven :^ 
God save swiche a lorde that is so good, 
He wilneth no destruction of blood. 

The Knightes Tale. 



m. 

THE TOURNAMENT. 

Up gon the trompes and the melodie, 

And to the listes rit^ the compagnie 

By ordinance, thurghout the citie large, 

Hanged with cloth of gold, and not with sarge. 

Ful like a lord this noble duke gan ride, 

And these two Thebans upon eyther side : 

And after rode the quene and Emelie, 

And after that another compagnie 

Of one and other, after hir^ degree 

And thus they passen thurghout the citee. 

And to the listes comen they betime : 

It n'as not of the day yet fully prime. 

When set was Theseus ful rich and hie, 
Ipolita the quene, and Emelie, 
And other ladies in degrees aboute ; 
Unto the setes preseth all the route. 
And westward, through the gates under Mart,* 
Arcite, and eke the hundred of his part, 
With banner red is entred right anon ; 
And in the selve^ moment Palamon 

' Voice. 2 Rode. 3 Their. 

* The statue of Mars. s Selfsame. 



MISCELLANEOUS. 231 



Is, under Venus, estward in the place, 

With banner white, and hardy chere and face. 

In all the world to seken up and doun. 

So even without variatioun 

There n'ere' swich compagnies never twey.' 

For ther was non so wise that coude sey, 

That any had of other avantage 

Of worthinesse, ne of estat, ne age. 

So even were they chosen for to gesse. 

And in two ringes fayre they hem dresse. 

Whan that hir names red were everich^ one, 

That in hire nombre gile were ther non, 

Tho were the gates shette, and cried was loude ; 

Do now your devoir, yonge knightes proude. 

The heralds left hir priking up and doun, 
Now ringen trompes loud and clarioun. 
There is no more to say, but east and west 
In gon the speres sadly^ in the rest ; 
In goth the sharpe spore^ into the side. 
Ther see men who can juste and who can ride. 
Ther shiveren shaftes upon shcldes thicke ; 
He feleth thurgh the herte-spone the pricke. 
Up springcn speres twenty foote on highte ; 
Out gon the swerdes as the silver bright. 
The helmes they to-hewen, and to-shrede ;' 
Out brest the blood, with stcrne stremes rede. 
With mighty maces the bones they to-breste. 
He thurgh the thickest of the throng gan threste.'' 
Ther stomblen stedes strong, and doun goth all. 
He rolleth under foot as doth a ball. 

1 Never was. 2 Two. ^ Every. •* Steadily. 

8 Spur. « Torn. ' Thrust. 



232 CHAUCER. 



He foineth on his foo^ with a truncheon, 
And he him hurtleth with his hors adoun. 
He thurgh the body is hurt, and sith ytake'^ 
Maugre his hed, and brought unto the stake, 
As forword^ was, right ther he must abide. 
Another lad is on that other side. 
And sometime doth* hem Theseus to rest. 
Hem to refresh and drinken if hem lest. 

Ful ofte a day han thilke Thebanes two 
Togeder met, and wrought eche other wo : 
Unhorsed hath eche other of hem twey. 
Ther n'as no tigre in the vale of Galaphey^ 
When that hire whelpe is stolen, when it is lite,* 
So cruel on the hunt, as is Arcite 
For jelous heart upon this Palamon : 
Ne in Belmarie ther n'is so felF leon. 
That hunted is, or for his hunger wood,^ 
Ne of his prey desireth so the blood. 
As Palamon to sleen his foo Arcite. 
The jelous strokes on hir® helmes bite ; 
Out renneth blood on both hir sides rede. 

Somtime an ende ther is of every dede. 
For er the sonne unto the reste went. 
The stronge King Emetrius gan bent'" '' 

This Palamon, as he fought with Arcite, 
And made his swerd depe in his flesh to bite. 
And by the force of twenty is he take 
Unyolden," and ydrawen to the stake. 

1 Foe. 2 Since taken. s Agreement. * Doeth or causeth. 

5 Galaphey and Behnarie are by Tyrwhitt supposed to be provinces of 
Mauritania. 

6 Little. 7 Furious lion. s Mad. » Their. 
10 Seize. 'i Not having surrendered. 



MISCELLANEOUS. 233 



And in the rescous^ of this Palamon 
The stronge King Licurge is borne adoun : 
And King Emetrius for all his strcngthe 
Is borne out of his sadel a swerdes length, 
So hitte him Palamon or^ he were take : ' 
But all for nought, he was brought to the stake : 
His herdy herte might him helpen naught, 
He must abiden, whan that he was caught 
By force, and eke by composition. 

Who sorweth now but woful Palamon ? 
That must no more gon again to fight. 
And whan that Theseus hath seen that sight, 
Unto the folke that foughten thus eche on. 
He cried, ho ! no more, for it is don. 
I wol be trewe juge, and not partie, 
Arcite of Thebes shall have Emelie, 
That by his fortune hath hire fayre ywonne. 

The Knightes Tale. 



IV. 

DEATH OF ARCITE. 

The fierce Arcite hath off his helm ydon, 
And on a courser for to show his face 
He priketh endelong the large place, 
Loking upward upon his Emelie \ 
And she again^ him cast a friendlich eye. 
And was all his in chere, as his in herte. 
Out of the ground a fire infernal sterte, 

Rescue. 2 Before. 3 Against or upon. 



234 CHAUCER. 



From Pluto sent, at requeste of Saturne, 
For which his hors for fere gan to turne, 
And lepte aside, and foundered as he lepe : 
And ere that Arcite may take any kepe, 
He pight^ him on the pomel of his head, 
That in the place he lay as he were ded, 
His brest to-broken with his sadel bow. 
As blake he lay as any cole or crow, 
So was the blood yronnen in his face. 

Anon he was yborne out of the place 
With herte sore, to Theseus paleis. 
Tho was he corven^ out of his harneis. 
And in a bed ybrought ful fayre and blive,' 
For he was yet in memorie and live,* 
And alway crying after Emelie. 

Swelleth the brest of Arcite, and the sore 

Encreseth at his herte more and more. 

The clotered^ blood, for any leche-craft, 

Corrumpeth,^ and is in his bouke' ylaft, 

That neither veine-blood, ne ventousing,® 

Ne drinke of herbes may ben his helping. 

The pipes of his longes gan to swelle, 

And every lacerte'' in his brest adoun 

Fs shent with venime and corruptioun. 

Him gaineth neyther, for to get his lif. 

Vomit upward, ne dounward laxatif ; 

All is to-brosten thilke region ; 

Nature hath now no domination. 

And certainly ther nature wol not werche, 

Farewel physike ; go here the man to cherche. 

1 Pitched. ^ Then he was cut out of, &c. 

3 Quickly. '^ Life. & Clotted. c Corrupted. 

7 Body. ^ Cupping. 9 Wound. 



MISCELLANEOUS. 235 



This is all and some, that Arcite muste die. 
For which ho sendeth after Emelie, 
And Palamon, that was his cosin dere. 
Then sayd he thus, as ye shuln after hear. 

Nought may the woful spirit in myn herte 
Declare o' point of all my sorwes smerte 
To you, my lady, that 1 love most ; 
But I bequeath the servis of my gost 
To you aboven every creature, 
Sin that my lif ne may no lenger dure.'* 

Alas the wo ! alas the peines stronge, 
That I for you have suffered, and so longe ! 
Alas the deth ! alas min Emelie ! 
Alas departing of our compagnie ! 
Alas min hertes queue ! alas my wif ! 
Min hertes ladie, ender of my lif! 
What is this world ? what axen men to have ? 
Now with his love, now in his colde grave 
Alone withouten any compagnie. 
Farewel my swete, farewel min Emelie, 
And sofle take me in your armes twey. 
For love of God, and herkeneth what I sey. 

I have here with my cosin Palamon 
Had strif and rancour many a day agon 
For love of you, and for my jalousie. 
And Jupiter so wis' my soule gie,* 
To speken of a servant proprely. 
With alle circumstances trewely. 
That is to sayn, trouth, honour, and knighthede, 
Wisdom, humblesse, estate and high kindrede, 
Fredom, and all that longeth^ to that art, 

' One. 2 Last. 3 Certainly. 

* Guide. s Belongeth. 



CHAUCER. 



So Jupiter have of my soule part, 

As in this world right now ne know I none 

So worthy to be loved as Palamon, 

That serveth you, and wol don^ all his life. 

And if that ever ye shall be his wif, 

Foryete" not Palamon, the gentil man. 

And with that word his speche to faille began. 
For from his feet up to his brest was come 
The cold of deth, that had him overnome. 
And yet moreover in his armes two 
The vital strength is lost, and all ago. 
Only the intellect, withouten more, 
That dwelled in his herte sike and sore, 
Gan faillen, whan the herte felte deth ; 
Dusked his eyen two, and failed his breth. 
But on his ladie yet cast he his eye ; 
His laste word was ; Mercy, Emelie ! 
His spirit changed hous, and wente ther, 
As I came never I cannot tellen where. 

The Knightes Tale. 



V. 

THE CHARACTERISTICS OF A GENTLEMAN. 

" Villanie' at the beginning 
I woU," said Love, "over all thing 
Thou leave, if thou wolt ne be 
False and trespace ayenst* me : 
1 curse and blame generally 
All hem that loven villany, 

1 Will do. 2 Fovget. 

3 Anything unbecoming the character of a gentleman. * A^inst. 



MISCELLANEOUS. 237 



For villanie maketh villeine 

And by his deeds a chorle is seene. 

These villaines arne without pitie, 
Friendship, love, and all bountie, 
I nill' receive into my servise 
Hem that been villaines of emprise'' 

But understond in thine cntent^ 
That this is not mine entendement, 
To clepe* no wight in no ages 
Onely gentiP for his linages : 
But who so is vertuous. 
And in his port not outrageous. 
When such one thou seest thee beforne, 
Though he be not gentil born, 
Thou mayest wel sayn this in sooth, 
That he is gentil, because he doth 
As longeth® to a gentleman : 
Of hem none other deme'^ I can, 
For certainly withouten dreede,'' 
A chorle is demed by his deede. 
Of high or low, as ye may see. 
Or of what kindred that he bee; 
Ne say nought for none evil will, 
Thing that is to holden still, 
It is no worship^ to mis-saie, 
Thou mayest ensample take of Kaye, 
That was sometime for mis-sayeng, 
Hated both of old and yong : 
As far as Gawein the worthie, 
Was praised for his curtesie. 

1 Will not. 2 By choice or profession. 3 Understanding. 

4 Call. 5 Noble. « Belongeth. i Judgment. 

8 Doubt. . 9 Credit. 



238 CHAUCER. 



Kaye was hated, for he was fell, 
Of word dispilous^ and cruel! ; 
Wherefore be wise and acqueintable, 
Goodly ofVord and resonable : 
Both to lesse, and eke to mare,"'^ 
And whan thou comest there men are. 
Looks that thou have in custome ay^ 
First to salve* hem if thou may : 
And if it fall, that of hem some 
Salve the first, be no dumb. 
But quite^ him courtesly anone 
Without abiding,^ ere they gone. 

For nothing eke thy tongue applie 
To speken wordes of ribaldrie, 
To villaine speche in no degree 
Let never thy lippe unbounden bee : 
For I nought hold him in good faith 
Curteous, that foule wordes saith : 
And all women to serve and preise. 
And to thy power their honour raise : 
And if that any missayer' 
Despise women, that thou mayest hear, 
Blame him, and bid him hold him still, 
And set thy might and all thy will 
Women and ladies for to plese, 
And to do thing that may hem ease. 
That they ever speake good of thee. 
For so thou maiest best praised bee. 

Looke from pride thou keepe thee wele, 
For thou mayest both perceive and feele, 
That pride is both follie and sin, 

J Angry. 2 To less and greater. ^ Ever. ^ Salute. 

6 Requite. ^ Delaying. " Slanderer. 



MISCELLANEOUS. 239 



And he that prido hath him within, 
Ne may his herte in no wise, 
Maken ne souplen^ to service : 
For Pride is found in every part 
Contrarie unto Loves art. 

Morn aunt of the Rose. 



VL 

APPAREL AND DEMEANOR OF 
THE GALLANTS OF CHAUCER'S TIME." 

He that loveth truely, 
Should him conteine jollily, • 

Without pride in sondrie wise,^ 
And him disguisen in queinteise,* 
For queint array, without drede 
Is nothing proude, who taketh hede. 
For fresh array, a5 men may see 
Without pride may ofte bee. 

Maintaine thyself after thy rent^ 
Of robe and eke of garment. 
For many sithe" faire clothing 
A man amendeth in much thing. 

And looke alway that they be shape 
(What garment that thou shalt make). 
Of him that can best do, 
With all that partaineth thereto, 

1 Pliant. 

2 This selection is made less for its poetical merits, than because it is a 
curious and truthful portraiture of the gallants of a chivalrous age; with 
whom— as indeed with all of the higher classes — there prevailed an ex- 
cessive fondness for dress and extravagant magnificence. 

3 In various modes. ^ Excessive neatness. & Income. ^ Times. 



240 CHAUCER. 



Pointes and sleeves be well sittand/ 
Right and streight on the hand, 
Of shoone^ and bootes, new and faire, 
Looke at the least you have a paire, 
And that they sit so fetously,^ 
That these rude may utterly 
Marvaile, sith that they sit so plaine, 
How that they come on or off again. 
Weare streighte gloves with aumere* 
Of silke : and alway with good chere 
Do yeve,^ if thou have richesse, 
And if thou have nought, then spend the lesse. 
Alway be merry, if thou may, 
• But waste not thy good alway : 

Have hatte of floures fresh as May, 

Chapelet of roses of Whitsunday, 

For such array ne costeth but lite. 

Thine hondes wash, thy teeth make white, 

And leth no filth upon thee bee. 

Thy nailes blacke, if thou mayst see, 

Voide it all-way deliverly. 

And kembe thine head right joUily : 

Farce^ not thy visage in no wise. 

For that of love is not th' emprise,' 

For love doth haten, as I finde 

A beautee that cometh not of Kinde : 

Alway in herte I rede^ thee, 

Glad and merry for to bee. 

And be as joyful as thou can, 

Love hath no joy of sorrowful man, 

For ever of love the sikenesse 

» Fitting. '^ Shoes. 3 Properly. •« Purse. ^ Give. 

6 Disguise or paint. ' Characteristic. » Advise. 



MISCELLANEOUS. 241 



Is mcint' wiili sweet and bitternessc. 

The sore of- love is marvailous, 

For now the lover is joyous, 

Now can he plaine, now can he groan, 

Now can he singon, now maken moan. 

To-day he plaineth for heavinessc, 

To-morrow he plaineth for jolynesse : 

The life of love is full contrarie. 

Which stoundemele'^ can oft varie : 

But if thou canst mirthes make, 

That men in gre^ woll gladly take, 

Doe it goodly I command thee, ^ 

For men should, wheresoever they be, 

Doe thing that hem fitting is. 

For thereof Cometh good loos^ and pris» 

Wherof that^ thou be vertuous 

Ne be not strange ne daungerous :" 

For if that thou good rider be, 

Pricke gladly that men may see : 

In armes also if thou conne'' 

Pursue till thou a name hast wonne : 

And if tiiy voice be faire and clere 

Thou shalt maken no gret daungere, 

When to sing they goodly pray, 

It is thy worship to obay : 

Also to you it longeth aye, 

To harpe and citterne, daunce and playe, 

For if he can well foot and daunce, 

It may him greatly doe avaunce,® 

1 Mingled. 2 Momentarily. 

3 Pleasure. 4 Los, or renown. s On account of that 

6 Coy, difficult. ' Art able. s Profit. 

12 



242 CHAUCER. 



Emong^ eke for thy lady sake, 

Looke that no man thee scarse^ may hold 

For that may greeve^ thee manifold : 

Reson woll that a lover bee 

In his yeftes more large and free 

Than chorles that ben not of loving. 

Yet with o thing I thee charge, 
That is to say, that thou be large" 
Unto the maid, thy lif doth serve, 
So best her thanke thou shalt deserve. 
Yeve her giftes and gette her grace, 
For so thou may thanke purchase,^ 
That she thee worthy hold and h^ee, 
Thy ladie, and all that may thee see. 
Also her servants worship aie 
And please as muche as ihou male, 
Great good through hem may come to thee, 
Because with her they ben privee : 
They shall her tell how they thee fand« 
Curteous and wise, and well doand,'' 
And she shall preise well thee more. 
Looke out of lond thou be no fore,® 
And if such cause thou have, that thee 
Behoveth to gone out of countree 
Leave hole^ thine hearte in hostage, 
Till thou againe make thy passage, 
Thinke lono- to see the swete thinsr 
That hath thine hearte in her keeping. 

Rom aunt of the Rose. 

> Among. 2 Parsimonious, 3 Injure. 

■* Generous. s Purchase things. ^ Found. 

7 Doing. 8 Thou be not far. » All. 



MISCELLANEOUS. 243 



VIL 

FORTUNE. 

It is of Love, as of Fortune, 
That clmungeth oft and nill contune ;* 
Which whylome^ woll on folke smile 
And glombe'-' on hem another while. 
Now friend, now foe, shalt her feele, 
For a twinkling tourneth her whele. 
She can writhe her head away, 
This is the concourse^ of her play, 
She can areise^ that doth mourne, 
And whirle adoune, and overtourne, 
Who sittelh highest, but as her lust,® 
A foole is he that will her trust. 

The Romaunt of the Rose. 



VIIL 

REASON'S CHARACTER OF LOVE. 

Love is an hatefull pees, 

A free acquitaunce without relees, 

And through the fret'' full of falshede, 

A sikernesse^ all set in drede, 

In herte is a despairing hope, 

And full of hope it is wanhope," 

Wise wodenesse,^" and void'* reasoun, 

A swete perill in to droun, 

A heavy burthen light to beare, 

» Continue. 2 Once on a time. 3 Gloomed, or looked gloomy. 

* Natural course. ^ Lift up those. ^ As she chooses. ' Brim. 

8 Security set in doubt. » Despair. >o Madness. u Empty. 



244 CHAUCER. 



A wicked wave away to weare. 
It is Carybdis perillous, 
Disagreable and gracious, 
It is discordaunce that can accord, 
And accordaunce to discord, 
It is conning without science, 
Wisedom without sapience, 
Witte without discretion, 
Havoire^ without possession ; 
It is like heal and hole sikenesse, 
A trust drouned and dronkenesse. 
And health full of maladie. 
And charitee full of envie, 
And anger full of aboundance 
And a greedie suffisaunce. 
Delight right full of heavinesse, 
And drerihed^ full of gladnesse. 
Bitter sweetnesse and swete errour, 
Right evil savoured good savour. 
Sin that pardon hath within, 
And pardon spotted without sin ; 
A paine also it is joyous. 
And felonie right pitous,^ 
Also play that selde^ is stable, 
And sted fastness right mc^veable, 
A strength wicked to stond upright. 
And feebleness full of might, 
Witte unavised, sage follie, 
And joy full of tourmentrie, 
A laughter it is weeping aye. 
Rest that travaileth night and day ; 
Also a swete Hell it is, 

Wealth. 2 Sorrowfulness. 3 Violence full of mercy. ■* Seldom. 



MISCELLANEOUS. 245 



And a sorrowful Paradcis, 

A pleasant gaile and oasie ])risoun 

And full of froste summer seasoun : 

Prime temps' full of frostes white 

And May devoid of all delite ; 

With sere braunches, blossomes ungrene, 

And new fruit filled with winter tene ; 

It is a slowe'" may not forbeare 

Ragges ribaned^ with gold to wear : 

And if thou wolt well love eschew, 

For to escape out of his mew* 

And make all hole thy sorow to slake, 

No better counsaile maist thou take 

Than thinke to fleen well ywis. 

May nought helpe else : for wite^ thou this 

If thou fly it, it shall flee thee. 

Follow it. and followen shall it thee. 

The Roniaunt of the Rose. 



IX. 
SEPULCHRE OF PITY. 

1 ROSE and ycde'"' my way. 
And in the temple as I ycde, I sey^ 

A shrine surmounting all in stones rich, 

Of which the force was pleasaunce to mine ey, 

With diamond or saphire, never lichc 

I have none scene, ne wrought so wonderly. 

1 Spring. 2 Moth. 3 Bordered. ■« Cage. 

5 Know. 6 Went. ' Saw. 



246 CHAUCER. 



So when I met with Philobone in hie 
I gan demand, who is this sepulture ? 
"Forsooth," quod she, "a tender creature 

Is shrined there, and Pity is her name ; 
She saw an eagle wreke him on a fly, 
And pluck his wing, and eke him in his game, 
And tender herte of that hath made her die." 

The Court of Love. 



X. 

HOUSE OF FAME. 

It stood upon so high a rock, 

Higher standeth none in Spaine ; 

But up I clambe^ with moch paine, 

And though to climbe greeved me, 

Yet I ententife was to see, 

And for to poren wonder low 

If I coude any wise yknow 

What manner stone this roche'^ was, 

For it was like a limed^ glass, 

But that it shone full more clere ; 

But of what congeled matere 

It was, I n'iste redely,* 

But at the last espied I 

And found that it was every dele^ 

A roche of yse^ and not of stele : 

1 Clambered. 2 Rock. 3 Polished 

4 I wist not readily. s Every bit. e ice. 



MISCELLANEOUS. 247 



Thought I, " By Saint Thomas of Kent, 
This were a feeble foundement' 
To builden on a place hie, 
He oughte him little to glorifie, 
That hereon biltc, God so me save." 

Then sawe I all the hall ygrave 
With famous folkcs names fele,^ 
That had been in much wele 
And their fames wide yblow,' 
But wel unneth* might I know 
And letters for to rede 
Hir names by, for, out of drede,^ 
They weren almost out thawed so. 
That of the letters one or two 
Were molte*' away of every name. 
So unfamous was waxed hir fame ; 
But men say, what may ever last ? 

Then gan I in mine herte cast. 
That they were molte away for heate 
And not away with stormes beate, 
For on that other side I sey,' 
Of this hill that northward lay. 
How it was written full of names 
Of folke that had afore great fames. 
Of old time, and yet they were 
As fresh as men had written hem there 
The self-day, or that houre 
That I on hem began to poure. 

House of Fame. 

1 Foundation, 2 Many. 3 Blown. •* Scarcely. 

6 Doubt. 6 Melted. ' Saw. 



248 CHAUCER. 



XL 



FAME'S HALL AND THE GODDESS OF FAME 

Of this hall, now what need is 
To tellen you that every wall 
Of it, and roof and floor with all. 
Was plated half a foote thicke 
Of golde, and that n'as not wicke/ 
But for to prove in all wise 
As fine as ducket in Venise, 
Of which too little in my pouche is, 
And they were set as thicke of ouches'^ 
Fine, of the finest stones faire. 
That men reden in a lapidare, 
Or as grasses growen in a mede, 
But it were all too long to rede 
The names, and therefore I pace f 
But in this lustie and riche place 
That Fames hall called was. 
Full much prees of folke ther n'as, 
Ne croud ing, for too much prees, 
But all on hie above a dees* 
Satte in a see^ imperial, 
That made was of rubie royall. 
Which that a carbuncle is ycalled, 
I sawe perpetually installed, 
A feminine creature. 
That never formed by nature 
Was such another thing I sale : 
For alderfirst,^ soth to sale 

1 Base. 2 Broches. 3 Pass. 

4 Dais. 5 Seat. e As the first. 



MISCELLANEOUS. 249 



Me thought that she was so lite 

That the length of a cubite 

Was longer than she semed be. 

But thus soone in a while she 

Her self thus wonderly streight,^ 

That with her feet she th' erthe reight,'^ 

And with her hedde she touched Heaven, 

There as shineth the sterres seven. 

And thereto yet, as to my wit, 

I saw a greater wonder yet 

Upon her eyen to behold, 

But certainly I hem never told' 

For as fele* eyen had she 

As fethers upon foules be, 

Or weren on the bestes foure 

That Goddes trone can honour, 

As writeth John in the Apocalips, 

Her hair that was oundie and crips^ 

As burned gold it shone to see.'' 

And sooth to tellen, also shee 
Had also fele up standing eares. 
And tonges, as on best been heres,' 
And on her feete waxen saw I 
Partriche winges redily. 

But Lord the perrie® and the richesse 
I saw sitting on the goddesse. 
And the heavenly melodic 
Of songes full of armonie 
I heard about her throne ysong, 
That all the palais wall rong, 

1 Outstretched. 2 Reached. 3 Counted. 

4 Many. ^ Waving and curled. ^ Sight. 

7 As on beasts are hairs. >" Jewels. 
12* 



250 CHAUCER. 



So song the mighty muse, she 
That cleped is Caliope, 
And her seven sisterne eke 
That in hir faces seemen meke. 
And evermore eternally 
They song of Fame, thus heard I, 
" Heried' be thou and thy name, 
Goddess of renoun and of Fame." 

Then was I ware at the last 
As I mine eyen gan up cast, 
That this ilke^ noble queene 
On her shoulders gan sustene 
Both the armes and the name 
Of those that had large fame, 
And thus found I sitting this goddesse 
In noble honour and richesse, 
Of which I stinte awhile now 
Other thing to tellen you. 

House of Fame. 



XII. 

THE TRUMP OF SLANDER OR DIFFAME. 

What did this Eolus, but he 
Tooke out his blacke trump of brass 
That fouler than the devil was. 
And gan this trompe for to blow 
As all the world should overthrow. 
Throughout every regioun 
Went this foule trumpes soun, 

' Praised. 2 Same. 



MISCELLANEOUS. 251 



As svvifte as a pellet' out of a gunne 
When fire is in the poudcr runne, 
And such a smoke gan out wende 
Out of the foule trumpes cnde, 
Blacke, blue, grenish, svvartish, red, 
As doth where that men melte lead, 
So, all on hie from the tewell ;^ 
And therto saw I one thing well 
That the farther that it ranne 
Tiie greater vvexen it bcganne, 
As doth a river from a well, 
And it stanke as the pitte of Hell. 

House of Fame. 



xin. 

THE HOUSE OF RUMOUR. 

Then sawe I stand in a valley 
Under the castle faste^ by. 
An house, that it of Dedali 
That Laborintus cleped^ is, 
N'as^ made so wonderly ywis, 
Ne halfe so qucintly y wrought ; 
And evermore, as swift as thought, 
This queint house about went. 
That ncvcrmoi'e it still stant," 
And there came out so i»:reat a noise 
That had it stonde upon Oise ' 

» Ball. ~ Funnel or chimney. 3 Near by. 

4 Called. s Was not. « Stood. 



252 CHAUCER. 



Men might have heard it easily 
To Rome, I trowe sikerly.' 

And all this house of which I rede, 
Was made of twigges, salow,^ rede, 
And green eke, and some were white, 
Such as men to the cages twite,^ 
Or maken of these panniers. 
Or els hutches or doffers, 
That for the swough* and for the twigges, 
This house was also full of gigges,^ 
And also full eke of chirkings** 
And of many other werkings. 
And eke this house hath of entrees' 
As many as leves ben on trees 
In summer when they ben greene. 
And on the roof yet men may scene 
A thousand holes, and wel mo, 
To letten the soune out go, 
And by day in every tide 
Bene all the dores open wide, 
And by night eche one unshet, 
Ne porter is there none to let 
No maner tidings in to pace,* 
Ne never rest is in that place 
That it n'is filled full of tidings 
Either loud or of whisperings. 
And ever all the houses angles 
Is full of rownings^ and of jangles,'° 
Of warres, of peace, of marriages. 
Of restes, and of labour, of viages," 

1 Surely. 2 Yellow. 3 Twist. 4 Sound. 

5 Odd sounds. ^ Chirpings. ' Entrances, s Pass. 

» Whisperings. 10 Babblings. " Voyages. 



MISCELLANEOUS. 253 



or abode, of death, and of life, 
Of love, of hale, accord, of strife. 
Of lossc, of lore, and of winnings, 
or heale, of sickness, or of losings,' 
Of faire weather, and eke of tempests, 
Of qualme, of folke, and of beests. 
Of divers transmutacions. 
Of estates and eke of regions, 
Of trust, of doubt, of jelousy. 
Of witte, of winning, of folie. 
Of plenty, and of great famine. 
Of chepe,' dearth, and of ruine. 
Of good or niisgovernment. 
Of fire, and of divers accident. 

And lo, this liouse of which I write, 
Sure be ye it n'as not lite,^ 
For it was sixtie mile of length, 
x^.1^ was the timber of no strength 
Yet it is founded to endure. 
While that it list to aventure, 
That is the mother of tidings. 
As the sea of wells and springs, 
And it was shaped like a cage. 
And at a window I was brought 
That in this house was at me thought, 
And therewithal me thought it stent 
And nothing it about went ; 
But such a great congregacioun 
Of folke as I sawe roam about. 
Some within and some without. 
Na's never scene, ne shall be efte,^ 

1 Lyings or lies ~ Cheapness. 3 Little. 

4 Although. s Again. 



254 CHAUCER. 



That certeSj in this world n'is lefte 
So many formed by nature, 
Ne need so many a creature, 
That wel unneth in that place 
Had I a foote brede of space : 
And every wight that I saw there 
Rowned^ everich in others eere, 
A new tiding privily, 
Or else he told it openly 
Right thus, and said, " Know'st thou 
That is betidde,- lo, right now ?" 
" No," quod he, " tell me what :" 
And then he told him this and that. 
And swore thereto that it was sooth,^ 
Thus hath he said, and thus he doth, 
And this shall be, and thus heard I say. 
That shall be found that dare 1 lay : 
^ That all the folke that is on live, 

Ne have the conning to descrive* 
Those things that 1 heard there, 
What aloud and what in ear : 
But all the wonder most was this. 
When one had heard a thing ywis. 
He came streight to another wight 
And gan him tellen anon right. 
The same that him was told 
Or^ it a furlong way was old. 
And gan somewhat for to eche" 
To this tiding in his speake, 
More than ever it spoken was, 
And not so sone departed n'as 

1 Whispered. ^ Happened. 3 Truth. 

4 Describe. ^ Before. 6 To eke or add. 



MISCELLANEOUS. 255 



Tho fro him that he ne mette 

With the third, and ere he lette 

Any stound he told him also, 

Where the tidings sothe or false : 

Yet wold he tell it nathelesse 

And evermore with more increase 

Than it was erst : thus north and south 

Went every tiding fro mouth to mouth, 

And that encreasing evermo 

As fire is wont to quicken and go 

From a sparkle sprongen amis 

Til a citie brent up is. 

House of Fame. 



XIV. 

THE TOWER OF JEALOUSY 

Now it is time shortly that I 
Tell you something of Jelousy, 
That was in so great suspection :i 
About him left he no mason. 
That stone could lay, ne querrour,'^ 
He hired hem to make a tour : 
And first, the roses for to kepe, 
About him made he a diche deepe. 
Right wonder large, and also broad, 
Upon the which also stode 
Of squared stone a sturdy wall, 
Which on a cragge was founded alle ; 
And right great thickness eke it bare, 
About it was founded square 

So suspicious. 2 Workers in stone. 



256 CHAUCER. 



An hundred fadome on every side, 
It was all liche long and wide, 
Least any time it was assailed 
Full well about it was battailed,i 
And round environ eke were set 
Full many a rich and fair tournet,^ 
At every corner of this wall 
Was set a toure full principal 1 
And everiche had, without fable, 
A portcuUise defensable 
To keepe off enemies, and to greve. 
That there hir force would preve.^ 

And eke amid this purprise® 
Was made a tour of great maistrise," 
A fairer saw no man with sight, 
Large and wide, and of great might. 
They dradde none assaut, 
Of ginne, gonne, nor skafFaut," 
The tempore of the mortere 
Was made of liquor wonder dear 
Of quicklime persant and egre"' 
The which was tempred.with vinegre. 

The stone was hard of adamaunt 
Whereof they made the foundemaunt, 
The toure was round made in compa.s, 
In all this world no richer was, 
Ne better ordained therewithall ; 
About the tour was made a wall 
So that betwixt that and the tour, 
Roses were set of sweet savour, 
With many roses that they here ; 

1 Embattled. 2 Turret. 3 Prove. ■* Inclosure. 

6 Worlcmanship. c Wooden tower. ^ Piercing and sharp. 



MISCELLANEOUS. 257 



And eke within the castle were 

Springolds,' gonns, bowes and archers, 

And eke about at corners 

Men seen over the wall stond 

Great engines, who were nere bond, 

And in the kernels'' here and there 

Of arblasters^ great plentie were. 

None armour might hir stroke withstand, 

It were folly to prease to hand ; 

Without the diche were listes made 

With wall battailed large and brade,* 

For men and horse should not attaine 

Too nigh the diche over the plain. 

Thus Jelousy hath environ 

Sette about his garrison, 

With walles round and diche deepe, 

Onely the roser for to keepe. 

And Danger early and late 

The keyes kept of the outer gate, 

The which opened toward the east. 

And he had with him at the least 

Thirtie servants, echone by name. 

The Rumaunt of the Rose. 



XV. 

GLUTTONY. 

O GLOTONiE ! full of cursednesse ; 
O cause first of our confusion 
O original of our damnation, 

1 Machines for throwing stones, 2 Battlements. 

3 Engines for casting darts. 4 Broad. 



258 CHAUCER. 



Til Christ had bought us with his blood again, 
Look how dear, shortly for to sain, 
Abought was this cursed vilanie : 
Corrupt was all this world for glotonie. 

Adam our father, and his wif also, 
Fro Paradise, to labour and to wo. 
Were driven for tliat vice, it is no drede. 
For while that Adam fasted, as I rede, 
He was in Paradise, and when that he 
Ete of the fruit defended on a tree. 
Anon he was cast out to wo and paine, 
O glotonie, on the wel ought us to plaine. 

O wist a man how many maladies 
Folwen of excesse and of glotonies. 
He wolde ben the more mesurable. 
Of his diete, sitting at his table. 
Alas ! the shorte throat, the tendre mouth 
Maketh that east and west, and north and south, 
In erthe, in air, in water, men to-swinke,^ 
To gete a glutton deintee mete and drinke. 

The Pardoneres Tale. 



XVI. 

DRUNKENNESS. 

A LECHEROUS thing is wine ; and dronkenesse 
Is full of striving and of wretchednesse. 
O drunken man, disfigured is thy face, 
Sour is thy breath, foul art thou to embrace : 
And through this drunken nose, seemeth the soun 
As though thou saidest ay, Sampsoun, Sampsoun : 

' Labor. 



MISCELLANEOUS. 259 



And yet, God wot, Sampsoun dronk never no wine. 

Thou fallest, as it were a slicked swine : 

Thy tonge is lost, and all thine honest cure,* 

For dronkennesse is veray sepulture 

Of mannes wit, and his discretion. 

In whom that drinke hath domination, 

He can no counsel kepe, it is no drede.^ 

Now kepe you fro the white and fro the rede, 

And namely fro the wine white of Lepe^ 

That is to sell in Fishstrete and in Chepe.* 

This wine of Spaine crepeth subtilly 

In other wines growing faste by. 

Of which there riseth swiche fumositee, 

That when a man hath dronken draughtes three, 

And weneth that he is at home in Chepe, 

He is in Spaigne, right at the toun of Lepe, 

Not at the Rochell, ne at Burdeux toun ; 

And thanne wol he say Sampsoun, Sampsoun. 

But hearkeneth, lordings, one word, I you pray, 
That all the soveraine actes, dare I say, 
Of victories in the Oldo Testament, 
Through veray God that is omnipotent. 
Were don in abstinence and in prayer : 
Loketh the Bible, and there ye may it lere. 

Loke Attila, the grete conqueror 
Died in his slope, with shame and dishonor, 
Bleding ay at his nose in dronkennesse : 
A capitaine shulde live in sobrenesse. 

The Pardoneres Tale. 

1 Care. ~ Doubt. 3 A Spanish town. ■* Cheapside. 



260 CHAUCER. 



XVII. 
GAMBLING. 

Hasard^ is veray mother of lesinges, 

And of doceite, and cursed foresweringes : 

Blaspheming of Christ, manslaughter, and Wast^ also 

Of catel, and of time; and furthermo 

It is repreve, and contrary of honour 

For to ben hold a common hasardour. 

And ever the higher he is of estate 

The more he is holden desolate. 

If that a Prince useth hasardie 

He is, as by common opinion, 

Yhold the lesse in reputation. 

Stilbon, that was a wise embassadour, 
Was sent to Corinth with full gret honour, 
For Callidone, to maken hem alliance. 
And when he came it happed him par chance, 
That all the gretest that were of that lond 
Yplaying atte hazard he hem found. 
For which, as sone as that it mighte be, 
He stole him home again to his countree, 
And sayde there, I wol not lese my name, 
Ne wol not take on me so great diffame 
You for to allie unto non hasardours. 
Sendeth some other wise embassadours, 
For by my trouthe, me lever were to die 
Than I you shuld to hasardours allie. 
For ye that ben so glorious in honours 
Shal not allie you to none hasardours, 
As by my wille, ne as by my tretee. 
This wise philosopher thus sayd he. 

The Pardoneres Tale. 
1 Gambling. 2 Waste. 



MISCELLANEOUS. 261 



XVIIL 

SWEARING. 

Now wol I speke of othes false and grete 

A word or two, as olde bookes trete, 

Gret swering is a thing abhominable, 

And false swering is yet more reprevable. 

.The highe God forbad swering at all, 

Witnesse on Matthew : but in special 

Of swering saith the holy Jeremie, 

Thou shalt swere soth thine othes, and not lie : 

And swere in dome, and eke in rightwisnesse, 

But idle swering is a cursednesse. 

Behold and see, that in the firste table 
Of highe Goddes hestes honorable. 
How that tlie second best of him is this. 
Take not my name in idel or amis. 
Lo, rather he forbiddeth swiche swering. 
Than homicide, or many another thing. 
I say that as by order thus it stondeth ; 
This knoweth he that his hestes understondeth, 
How that the second best of God is that. 
And furthermore, I wol thee tell all plat,^ 
That vengeance shall not parten from his house 
That of his othes is outrageous. 
By Goddes precious herte, and by his nailes, 
And by the blood of Crist, that is in Hailes,'^ 
Seven is my chance, and thine is cink and traye : 
By Goddes armes, if thou falsely playe. 
This dagger shul throughout thine herte go. 

1 Plainly. 2 The Abbey of Hailes in Gloucestershire. 



262 CHAUCER. 



This fruit cometh of the bicchel bones^ two, 
Forswering, ire, falsenesse, and homicide. 

Now for the love of Christ that for us dide, 
Leteth^ your othes, bothe great and small. 

1 Dice made of bones. 2 Leave. 



APPENDIX, 



Believing that some quotations from a few of the rare old au- 
thors alluded to in the text, will not be incompatible with my 
subject, and will at the same time prove interesting, both as af- 
fording an opportunity to measure the stature of Chaucer's genius 
by his contemporaries, and as illustrating the power of his exam- 
ple ; I have ventured to bring together some selections from 
Gower, Douglas and Lydgate. These are selected from the 
host that proclaimed Chaucer to be the model which they had 
studied, because like Saul they were a head and shoulders taller 
than their fellows, and by their labors made an impression upon 
our literature, which is (not faintly) discernible at this remote 
time. Their genius may not command our veneration, but we 
cannot deny that they did good service in clearing away the ob- 
stacles, and in levelling the rocks and chasms which beset the 
path so soon to be honored by tiie august presence of Spenser. 

[A.] 

Gower. — John Gower did not write anything in English before 
Chaucer had first led the way. Nor is it probable that he would 
have done so then, were it not that the king (Richard II.), " hav- 
ing met him rowing on the Thames, invited him into tiie royal 



264 CHAUCER. 



barge, and after much conversation requested him to ' book some 
new thing.' "^ In obedience to this command he wrote the Con- 
fessio Amantis, upon which principally his reputation as a poet 
depends. All his commentators discover in this work a union of 
pedantry and good sense, severe maxims of morality, and the 
most romantic amatory affectations. Art and learning are every- 
where visible, but his fancy is cold and his invention barren. 
His first productions were written either in the French or Latin 
languages, which he wrote with great facility; and it is said of 
his manuscripts that they were more richly illuminated and more 
sumptuously finished than the works of any other poet of that 
time. 

Some critics have accused him of being " given to change with 
the turns of state," and of having deserted the fortunes of his 
royal patron when it became dangerous any longer to adhere to 
them. But a cowardly vacillation is incompatible with his cha- 
racter, which was sober, dignified and severe. Indeed the charge 
is in the highest degree improbable, for when Richard was at the 
summit of his power, and ordered the book referred to above to 
be written, with the understanding that it was to be one "in 
which he himself might often look," Gower, with the freedom of 
a true patriot, took occasion severely to censure the follies and 
foibles of both king and court, in especial satirizing the vice 
which was the great blot upon the character of the youthful king, 
and finally cost him his crown, his foolish fondness for favorites. 
A daring so unusual in a courtier of that time, strongly contradicts 
the inferential charge of desertion or ingratitude. 

It is Gower's chief praise, that he was the intimate friend of 
Chaucer, who loved him warmly, and applied to him an epithet 
which will always be coupled with his memory, "the moral 
Gower." From some circumstances that have been inveigled 

1 Ellis's Spec. Eng. Poets, vol, i., p. 137, and Warton's Hist. Eng. Poets, 
vol. ii., p. 3. 



APPENDIX. 265 



iLto an appearance of probability, it has been inferred that this 
friendship suffered an interruption late in their lives. But as it 
requires all the learning of an elaborate critic to elucidate this 
knotty point, we merely allude to it, as a tlieme upon which 
much useless learning may be very gracefully bestowed. 

Gower was born about A. D. 1320, and died A. D. 1402. 
A monument was erected to his memory in the church of St. 
Saviour in Southwark, where it may be seen to this day. Tliis 
church, which is said to be a beautiful specimen of the lighter 
Gothic architecture, was chiefly built by Ids munificence.^ 

Our reasons for choosing the following selection from Gower's 
writings are contained in the extract we here give from Ellis's 
Specimens of Early English Poetry. Says tliat elegant critic : 
" It is usual to couple the names of Gower and Chaucer, as if 
these contemporary poets had possessed similar talents: the fair- 
est method, therefore, to form an estimate of both, will be to give 
from the one a subject which has been attempted by the other. 
Gower's Florent, which he appears to have taken from the Gesta 
Romanorum, is generally supposed to be the original of Chaucer's 
Wife of Bath's Tale. The story has considerable merit; and it 
is told in Gower's best manner. These reasons, it is hoped, will 
excuse the insertion of so long a specimen from an author who 
was once extremely popular, and whom we have been accustomed 
to venerate, upon trust, as one of the fathers of English poetry/' 

There was, whilom, by dayes old, 
A worthy knight, as menne told : 
He was nephew to the emperor, 
And of his court a cortier : 
Wife-less he was, Florent he hight. 
He was a man that mochel might :' 

I Warton's Hist. Eng. Poetry, vol. ii., p. 3. ^ That could do much. 

13 



266 CHAUCER. 



Of armes he was desirous, 

Chevalerous, and amorous, 

And, for the fame of worlde's speche, 

Strange aventures for to seche 

He rode the marches all about. 

And fell a time, as he was out, 
Fortune (which may every threde 
To-break and knit of mannes spede) 
Shope, as this knight rode in a pass, 
That he by strength y-taken was ; 
And to a castle they him lad^ 
Where that he fewe friendes had. 
For so it fell, that ilke stound'^ 
That he hath, with a deadly wound, 
Fighting (with) his own hande slain 
Branchus, which to the captain 
Was son and heir, whereof ben wroth 
The father and the mother both ; 
And fain they woulde do vengeance 
Upon Florent, but remembrance 
That they took of his worth inesse 
Of knighthood, and of gentlenesse. 
And how he stood of cosinage 
To th' emperor, made them assuage. 
And durst not slay en him for fear. 
In great disputeson they were 
Among themself, what was the -best. 

There was a lady, the sliest 
Of all that menne knew tho :^ 
So old she might unnethes go, 
And was grandame unto the dead : 

^ Led. 2 At that same time. s Then. 



APPENDIX. 267 



And she with that began to rede,^ 
And said how she will bring him in, 
That she shall him to death win, 
All onely of his owen grant 
Through strength of very covenant, 
Without blame of any wight. 
Anon she sent for this knight. 
And of her sonne she aloyd^ 
The death, and thus to him she said : 

" Florent, howso thou be to-wyte 
Of Branchus' death, men shall respite 
As now^ to take avengement. 
Be so thou stand in judgement. 
Upon certain condition : 
That thou unto a question 
Which I shall aske shalt answere. 
And, over this, thou shalt eke swere. 
That if thou of the sothe* fail. 
There shall none other thing avail. 
That thou ne shalt thy death receive. 
And (for men shall thee nought deceive) 
That thou thereof might ben avised. 
Thou shalt have day and time assised ; 
And leave safely for to wend : 
Be so that at thy dayes end 
Thou come again with thine avise.^ 

This knight, which worthy was, and wise, 
This lady pray'th that he may wyt,^ 
And have it under scales writ, 
What question it shoulde be. 
For which he shall, in that degree, 

1 Advise. 2 Accused. 3 At present. 

4 Truth. 5 Opinion. « Know. 



268 CHAUCER. 



Stand of his life in jeopardy. 
With that she feigneth company, 
And saith, " Florent, on lore it hongeth, 
All that to mine askinge 'longeth ; 
What alle women most desire, 
This will I ask : and in th' empire, 
Whereas thou hast most knowledging, 
Take counsel upon this asking." 

Florent this thing hath undertake ; 
The day was set, the time take : 
Under his seal he wrote his oath 
In such a wise, and forth he goth 
Home to his eme's^ court again : 
To whom his aventure plain 
He told of that him is befell ; 
And upon that they weren all, 
The wisest of the land assent l"^ 

But natheless of one assent 
They mighte not accorde plat :' 
One saide this, another that. 
To some women it is pleasaunce, 
That to another is grievance : 
And thus Florent withoute cure 
Must stand upon his aventure. 

When time came, he took his leave, 
That longer would he not beleve,* 
And prayeth his eme he be not wroth, 
For that is a point of his oath. 
He saith, that no man shall him wreak,*^ 
Though afterward men heare speake 
That he peraventure die. 

1 Uncle's. 2 Sent for. 3 plain. 

< Remain. ^ Revenge. 



APPENDIX. 269 



And thus he wente forth his way 

Alone as knight aventurous. 
And as he rode alone so, 

And came nigh there he shoulde be, 

In a forest un(ffer a tree. 

He saw where sat a creature, 

A loathly womanish figure, 

That for to speak of flesh and bone. 

So foul yet saw he never none. 
This knight beheld her redily. 

And, as he would have passed by. 

She cleped him, and bade abide : 

And he his horse's head aside 

Thoi turned, and to her he rode. 

And there he hev'd and abode 

To wite what she woulde mean. 
And she began him to bemene,'* 

And saide, " Florent, by thy name ! 

Thou hast on hande such a game. 

That, but thou be the better avised. 

Thy deth is shapen and devised. 

That all the world ne may thee save 

But if that thou my counsel have." 
Florent, when he this tale heard, 

Unto this olde wight answer'd. 

And of her counsel he her pray'd. 

And she again to him thus said : 
" Florent, if I for thee so shape, 

That thou through me thy death escape. 

And take worship of thy deed, 

"What shall I have to my meed ?" 
« What thing," quod he, " that thou wilt axe." 

i Then. - Bemoan. • 



270 CHAUCER. 



" I bidde never a better taxe," 



Quod she, " but first, or thou be sped, 

Thou shalt me leave such a wed' 

That I will have thy troth on hand 

That thou shalt be mine houseband." 
"Nay," said Florent, " that.may not be !" 
" Ride thenne forth thy way !" quod she. 
" And if thou go forth without rede^ 

Thou shalt be sekerliche^ dead." 
Florent behight^ her good enow, 

Of land, of rent, of park, of plough, 

But all that counteth she at nought. 
Tho fell this knight in mochel thought. 

Now go'th he forth, now com'th again, 

He wot not what is best to sayn. 

And thought as he rode to and fro. 

That choose he must one of the two ; 

Or for to take her to his wife, 

Or elles for to lose his life : 

And then he cast his avantage. 

That she was of so great an age, 

That she may live but a while ; 

And thought to put her in an isle. 

Where that no man her shulde know 

Til she with death were overthrow. 
And thus this younge lusty knight 

Unto this olde loathly wight 

Tho said : " If that none other chance 

May make my deliverance 

But only thilke same speche 

Which as thou sayst thou shalt me teche. 

Have here mine bond, I shall thee wed." 

Pledge. 2 Counsel. 3 Surely. ^ Promised. 



APPENDIX. 271 



With that she frounceth' up her brow : 
*' This covenant 1 will allow ;" 
She saith, " if any other thing 
But that thou hast of my teaching, 
Fro death thy body may respite, 
I will thee of thy troth acquite ; 
And elles, by none other way. 
Now hearken me what I shall say. 

" That thou shalt say — Ujjoii this moW 

That ALLE WOMEN LIEVEST WOULD 

Be sovereign of mannes love : 

For, what woman is so ahove 

She hath (as who sayth) all her will : 

And elles may she not fulfill 

What thing her were lievest have. 

With this answere thou shalt save 

Thy self, and otherwise nought : 

And when thou hast thine ende wrought 

Come here again, thou shalt me find. 

And let no thing out of thy mind." 

He go'th him forth with heavy cheer, 
As he that n'ot^ in what manere 
He may this worldes joye attain. 
For if he die he hath a pain : 
And if he live, he must him bind 
To such one, which if alle kind 
Of women is th' unseemliest. 
Thus wote he not what is the best. 
But, be him lief, or be him loth, 
Unto the castle forth he go'th. 
His full answere for to give. 
Or for to die, or for to live. 

1 Wrinkleth. 2 Earth. 3 Knew not. 



272 CHAUCER. 



Forth with his council came the lord, 
The thinges stooden of record, 
He sent up for the lady soon : 
And forth she came, that olde mone* 
In presence of the remenaunt ; 
The strength of all the covenaunt 
Tho was rehearsed openly, 
And to Florent she bade forthi'^ 
That he shall tellen his avise 
As he that wote what is the price. 

Florent saith all that ever he couth,^ 
But such word came there none to mouth, 
That he for gift or for behest 
Might any wise his death arrest. 
And thus he tarrieth long and late 
Till that this lady bade algate 
That he shall for the doom final 
Give his answer in special 
Of that she had him first opposed. 

And then he hath truly supposed 
That he him may of nothing yelp* 
But if so be tho^ werdes help 
Which as the woman hath him taught : 
Wherof he hath an hope caught 
That he shall be excused so, 
And told out plain his wille tho. 

And when that this matrone heard 
The manner how this knight answerd, 
She said, " Ha ! treason ! woe thee be ! 
That hast thus told the privity 
Which alle women most desire. 
I woulde that thou were a-fire !" 

Monkey. 2 Forthwith, 3 Knew. <» Prate. s Those. 



APPENDIX. 273 



But natheless, in such a plight 
Florent of his answer is quite. 
And tho began his sorrow new : 
For he must gone, or be untrue 
To hire which his trothe had. 
But he, which alle shame dred, 
Go'th forth in stead of his penance. 
And taketh the fortune of his chance, 
As he that was with trotli affayted. 

This old wight him hath awaited 
In place where he as hire left, 
Florent his woeful head up-lift. 
And saw this vecke' where she sit. 
Which was the loathlieste wijrht 
That ever man cast on his eye. 
Her nose has,"-' her browes high. 
Her eyen smalle, and depe-set. 
Her cheekes ben with teres wet, 
And rivelen^ as an empty skin 
Hangende* down unto the chin. 
Her lippes shrunken ben for age ; 
There was no grace in her visage. 
Her front was narrow, her locks hoar ; 
She looketh forth as doth a Moor. 
Her neck is short, her shoulders courb,' 
That might a mannes lust distourb. 
Her body, great, and nothing small : 
And, shortly to describe her all, 
She hath no lyth^ without a lack, 
But like unto a wolle-sack. 

She proffered her unto this knight. 



1 Old woman. 


2 Low. 


3 Shrivelled. 


4 Hanging. 


5 Distorted. 
13* 


6 Limb 



274 CHAUCER. 



And bade him as he hath behight :^ 

And by the bridle she him seizeth, 

But God wot how that she him pleaseth ! 

Of suche wordes as she speaketh, 

Him thinketh wel-nigh his heart breaketh 

For sorrow that he may not flee, 

But if he would untrue be. 

He would algate his trouthe hold, 
And every knight thereto is told. 
What hap soever him befall. 
Though she be the foulest of all. 
Yet, to honour of woman-hed. 
Him thought he shoulde taken heed ; 
So that, for pure gentiless. 
As he her couthe best address, 
In ragges as she was to-tore. 
He set her on his horse to-fore, 
And forth he taketh his way soft. 

No wonder though he sigheth oft ! 
But, as an owl flyeth by night 
Out of all other birdes sight, 
Right so this knight on dayes broad 
In close him held, and shope his road 
On nighte's time, till the tide^ 
That he come there he would abide : 
And privily, without noise, 
He bringeth this foule great coise' 
To his castell in such a wise 
That no man might her shape avise 
Till she into the chamber came 
Where he his privy council name* 
Of suche men as he moste trust ; 

Promised. 2 Time. 3 Incumbrance. * Took. 



APPENDIX. 271 



And told them that he needes must 
This beste wedde to his wife, 
For elles had he lost his life. 

The privy women were a-sent, 
That shoulden ben of his assent : 
Her ragges they anon off draw, 
And, as it was that time law. 
She hadde bath, she hadde rest. 
And was arrayed to the best. 
But with no craft of combes brode 
They might her hore lockes shode,' 
And she ne woulde nought be shore" 
For no counsel : and they therefore. 
With such attire as tho was used, 
Ordainen that it was excused. 
And hid so craftily about 
That no man mightc seen them out. 
But when she was fully array 'd, 
And her attire was all assayed, 
Tho was she fouler unto see ! 
But yet it may none other be : 
They were wedded in the night. 
So woe-begone was never knight 
As he was then of marriafe ! 
And she began to play and rage. 
As who sailh I am well enough. 
(But he thereof nothing ne lough») 
For she took thenne cheer on hand 
And clepeth' liim her houseband, 
And saith, " My Lord, go we to bed ! 
For I to that intent thee wed. 
That thou slialt be my worldes bliss ;" 
» Separate. 2 Shorn. 3 Laughed. ■« Calleth. 



276 CHAUCER. 



And proffer'th him with that to kiss, 

As she a lusty lady were. 

His body mighte well be there ; 

But as of thought, and of memoire. 

His hearte was in purgatoire. 

And when they were a-bedde naked, 

Withoute sleep he was awaked ; 

He turneth on that other side, 

For that he would his eyen hide 

Fro looking of that foule wight. 

The chamber was all full of light ; 

The curtains were of sendall' thin : 

This newe bride which lay within, 

Though it be nought with his accord. 

In armes she beclipt her lord. 

And pray'd as he was turned fro, 

He would him turn again-ward tho. 

For " nOw," she saith, " we be both one ;" 

But he lay still as any stone ; 

And ever in one she spake and pray'd. 

And bade him think on that he said 

When that he took her by the bond. 

He heard and understood the bond. 
How he was set to his penance : 
And, as it were a man in trance, 
He turneth him all suddenly. 
And saw a lady lie him by 
Of eighteene wintere age. 
Which was the fairest of visage 
That ever in all the world he sigh ;'* 
And as he would have take her nigh, 
She put her hand and by his leve^ 

.1 Silk. 2 Saw. 3 Love. 



APPENDIX. 277 



Besought him that he woulde leave, 
And say'th, that for to win or lese^ 
He mote one of two thinges chese,' 
Wher^ he will have her such o'night, 
Or elles upon dayes light, 
For he shall not have bothe two. 

And he began to sorrow tho. 
In many a wise, and cast his thought. 
But for all that, yet could he nought 
Devise himself which was the best : 
And she that woulde his hearte rest, 
Pray'th that he shuld chuse algate : 
Till at the laste, long and late 
He said, " O ye, my life's hele,* 
Say what ye list in my querele,^ 
I wil, that ye be my mistress. 
For I can nought myselve guess 
Which is the best unto my choice. 
Thus grant I you mine whole voice ; 
Chuse for us bothen, I you pray ! 
And, what as ever that ye say. 
Right as ye wille, so will I." 

" My lord," she saide, " grand-merci !* 
For of this word that ye nou sayn 
That ye have made me sovereign. 
My destiny is over passed ; 
That never hereafter shall be lassed^ 
My beauty which that now I have, 
Till I betake unto my grave. 
Both night and day, as I am now 
I shall alway be such to you. 

1 Lose. 2 Choose. 3 Whether. * Medicine. 

5 Quarrel. « Many thanks. ' Lessened. 



278 CHAUCER. 



The kinges daughter of Sicile 
I am ; and fell but sith a while, 
As I was with my father late, 
That my step-mother, for an hate 
Which toward me she had begun, 
For-shope' till I hadde won 
The love and the soveraintee 
Of what knight that in his degree 
All other passeth of good name : 
And, as men sayn, ye be the same, 
The deede proveth it is so, 
Thus am I yours for evermo. 

Tho was pleasance and joy enough ; 
Each one with other play and lough ; 
They lived long, and well they far'd. 
And clerkes, that this chance heard. 
They written it in evidence, 
To teach, how that obedience 
May well fortune a man to love, 
And set him in his lust above.' 

[B.] 

Lydgate. — It has been the custom with many respectable 
critics, such as Bishop Percy, Ritson, Pinkerton, and Ellis, to 
decry Lydgate's talents. The cry was first raised by Ritson, 
who was at once an acute critic and a thorough literary black- 
guard ; with prejudices so violent against the clergy in especial, 
that he was the bitter contemner of the lowest of the order. In- 
deed the argument upon which he principally relied to uncanon- 

1 Misshaped. 

2 Ellis's Spec. Early Eng. Poets, vol. 1., p. 142. Compare this selection 
with p. 215 of this work. 



APPENDIX. 279 



ize Lydgate was that he was a "stinking monk ;" and with haste 
commensurate to his fury he anathematizes the venerable poet's 
writings, as " cart-loads of rubbish of a volun)inous poetaster ; 
a prosaic and drivelling monk." 

In opposition to Ritson and his associates — if the names of 
Percy and Ritson may be associated without the risk of an explo- 
sion — we find the poets Gray and Coleridge, and Tiiomas Warton. 
They rank themselves on the side of Lydgate, and claim for him 
a just measure of consideration, in compensation for the volumes 
of contempt that had been poured upon him. And we are the 
more willing to trust the taste and discernment of these " children 
of fancy," because they re-echo the sentence which Lydgate's 
contemporaries pronounced, and which the enthusiastic favor of 
two centuries confirmed. For it is an indisputable historical 
fact, that during that period his popularity was unbounded, and 
diffused through all classes. The prince and the peasant, the 
courtier and the warrior, the merchant, the artisan, and the scho- 
lar, all were his fervent admirers : and we dare not nor do we 
wish to denounce generations of men who lived " lang syne," as 
being destitute of taste and refinement. We are willing to abide 
by Gray's judicious observation, " that it is a folly to judge of 
the understanding of those times by our own. They loved, I will 
not say tediousness, but length, and a train of circumstances in 
a narrative. The vulgar do so still ; it gives an air of reality to 
facts ; it fixes the mind ; raises and keeps in suspense their atten- 
tion, and supplies the defects of their lifeless and barren imagina- 
tions ; and it keeps pace with the slow motion of their own 
thoughts. Circumstances ever were and ever will be the life and 
essence both of Oratory and Poetry." If therefore a poet wished 
to be appreciated, or even understood, liow much soever he was 
in advance of his age, it was necessary that his style and ma- 
chinery should be adapted to his readers or hearers. 

John Lydgate was born in the year 1375 ; some authorities 

% 



280 CHAUCER. 



say at Bury, and others at Lydgate. He was educated at Ox- 
ford, and travelled through France, Germany, and Italy ; where 
it is inferred that he was received with open arms by his brethren 
of the clergy, and by them admitted to the vast stores of manu- 
scripts over which they were the jealous guardians. He so im- 
proved these opportunities, that upon his return to England he 
b'ecame renowned for his polite learning, and was induced to open 
a school in the Abbey at Bury (of which he was a monk) for the 
education of the children of the nobility. 

His principal works were. The Fall of Princes, The Story of 
Thebes, and The Troy Tale. The former was composed at the 
request of Humphrey, the good Duke of Gloucester ; and the 
latter by command of Henry V. But besides these, his writings 
are numbered at two hundred and forty, ranging from the un- 
pretending ballad to the voluminous epic. Although candor must 
award to him a great share of ability, it cannot be disguised that 
Lydgate's claims to genius are not commensurate with the size 
and quantity of his productions. We nevertheless believe that 
he was a true child of song. For if his genius be overshadowed 
by that of his master Chaucer, they yet had many things in 
common ; the same enthusiastic admiration of flowers and birds ; 
the same passionate love of feminine loveliness and purity ; the 
same fellowship with Nature in her bright and gay moods : and 
much of the same wizard power of expressing his sentiments 
simply and earnestly. The following portrait of Lydgate's lite- 
rary character is by Thomas Warton, and is limned with the pro- 
verbial grace and elegance of that amiable writer. " Whether 
Lydgate's subject be the life of a hermit or a hero, of Saint Aus- 
tin or of Guy Earl of Warwick, ludicrous or legendary, religious 
or romantic, a history or an allegory, he writes with facility. 
His transitions were rapid from works of the most serious and 
laborious kind, to sallies of wit and pieces of popular entertain, 
ment. His muse was of universal access ; and he was not only 



APPENDIX. 281 



the poet of the monastery but of the world in general. If a dis- 
guising was intended by the company of goldsmiths ; a mask 
before his majesty of Eltham ; a May game for the sheriffs and 
aldermen of London ; a mumming before the lord mayor ; a 
procession of pageants from the Creation, for the festival of Corpus 
Christi ; or a carol for the coronation, Lydgate was consulted and 
gave the poetry."' 

Like all our old English poets, who were close observers and 
lovers of nature, Lydgate excels in description ; and although 
his pedantry constantly obtrudes itself before our attention, it is 
impossible to deny to the following selections the merit of being 
fanciful, spirited, and harmonious. 



A COOL RETREAT.'^ 

And at the last, amonge the bowes glade, 
Of adventure, I caught a plesaunt shade ; 
Ful smooth and playn, and lusty for to sene, 
And softe as velvette was the yonge grene : 
Where from my hors I did alight as fast, 
And on a bough aloft his reyne cast. 
So faynte and mate of wearynesse I was. 
That I me layd adowne upon the gras, 
Upon a brincke, shortly for to telle, 
Beside the river of a crystall welle ; 
And the water, as I reherse can, 
Like quicksilver in his streames yran, 
Of which the gravell, and the bryghte stone, 
As any golde, agaynst the sun yshone.' 

1 Wharton's His. Eng. Poetry, vol. ii., p. 53. 

2 Compare with Chaucer, p. 99. 3 Troye Boke. 



282 CHAUCER. 



CAIUS MARIUS. 

Blacke was his weed, and his habyte also, 

His hed unkempt, his lockes hore and gray, 

His loke downcast in token of sorowe and wo : 

And on his cheke the salte teres lay. 

His robe stayned was with Romayne blode, 

His sworde aye redy whet to do vengeaunce ; 

Lyke a tyraunt most furyouse and wode. 

In slaughter and murdre was set his plesaunce.* 



VENUS.2 

And she stant naked in a wavy sea, 
Environ her with goddesses thre, 
That be assign'd with busy attendance 
To wait on her and do her observance. 
And floures fresh, blue, red, and white, 
Be her about, the more for to delight. 
And on her hed she hath a chapelet 
Of roses red full pleasauntly yset, 
And from the head down unto her foote 
With sundry gums and ointementes soote 
She is enointe, sweeter for to smelle. 
And all alofte, as these poets tell. 
Be doves white, fleeing, and eke sparrows, 
And her beside Cupide with his arrows.^ 

» Fall of Princes. 2 Compare with Chaucer, p. 123. 3 Troy Boke 



APPENDIX. 283 



[C] 

Douglas. — Gawin Douglas was born in Scotland, a. d. 1475, 
and was the third son of Archibald, the great Earl of Angus. 
He had a classical education, to which he superadded the advan- 
tage of long travel in Germany and France, where his high birth 
and great acquirements commanded the notice of the most po- 
lished men. In his thirty-ninth year he was presented by the 
queen-mother, then regent of Scotland, to the Abbey of Aber- 
brothe, and soon after to the archbishopric of Saint Andrew's ; 
but the Pope having refused to confirm his nomination he never 
assumed the title. In the next year he became Bishop of Dun- 
keld, and after a long struggle obtained peaceable possession of 
that see. He was a man of great and varied learning, and the 
possessor of numerous virtues. He, however, suffered from the 
violent persecution in which his family was involved; and was 
at length compelled to seek an asylum in England. He accord- 
ingly removed to London, where he died of the plague in April, 
1522, and was buried in the Savoy Church.^ 

The works which have transmitted to us a knowledge of his 
genius are. King Hart, The Palice of Honour, and a translation 
of Virgil's Eneid. This last is greatly esteemed, and by compe- 
tent critics is lauded for its ability and the truth of its rendering. 
It is a durable monument to our author's genius and learning : for 
it was the first metrical version of any classic into English, and 
was executed within the space of sixteen months. Each of the 
thirteen books into which it is divided is prefaced by a prologue 
in which David Hume, the historian of his life, says, " he show- 
eth a natural and ample vein of poetry, pure, pleasant, and judi- 
cious." That more refined critic, T. Warton, says of them, " the 
several books are introduced with metrical prologues, which are 

1 These and the following facts are selected from Hollinshed, Floyd, 
Warton, and Ellis. 



284 CHAUCER. 



often highly poetical, and show that Douglas's proper walk was 
original poetry." The extracts we shall make, will confirm this 
observation. He describes rural pleasures and the comforts of 
domestic life with great felicity. After the fashion of his day, 
his writings abound in allegory, but they always pointed to some 
high and noble end, and always classified vice with dishonor and 
unmanliness, virtue and piety with true honor and happiness. 

Several of the extracts from Douglas which follow, strongly 
resemble our previous selections from Chaucer, whom indeed he 
studied and venerated, and whom in the Palice of Honour he 
associates with Homer, Ovid, and Virgil, applying to him the 
praise of being 

" A per se sans peir 
In his vulgare." 



A GARDEN. 

QuHEN* pale Aurora with face lamentabill 
Her russet mantel borderit all with sable 
Lappit^ about by hevinly circumstance, 
The tender bed and aires honorabill 
Of Flora quene, tilP flowris amiabill, 
In May I rais to do my observance : 
And enterit in a gardyne of plesance 
With sol depaint, as Paradice delectabill, 
And blissful bewis,^ with bloomed varyance. 

• 
So craftily dame Flora had over fret 
Hir hevinly bed, powderit with mony a set 
Of ruby, topas, perle and emerant, 

When. 2 Skirted. 3 To. * Boughs. 



APPENDIX. 285 



With balmy dew, bathit' and kindly wet ; 
QuhilP vapours bote right freshe and weil ybet, 
Dulce of odour, of flour, most fragrant, 
The silver droppis on dasies distillant : 
Quhilk verdour' branches over the alars yet 
With smoky sense the mists reflectant. 

The fragrand flowris bloomand in thair seis, 
Oer spread the levis of natures tapestries; 
Above the qhilk* with hevinly harmonies 
The birdis sat on twistes* and on greis,' 
Melodiously makand thair kyndlie gleis,? 
Whose shrill nottis fordinned all the skyis. 
Of repurcust air the echo cryis. 
Among the branches of the blooming tries 
And on the laurers silver droppis lyis. 

While that I rowmed in that Paradice, 
Replenischit, and full of all delice,8 
Out of the see Eous alift his heid, 
I mene the hors which drawis at device 
The affiltrie^ and golden chair of price 
Of Titan : which at morrow seemis red ; 
The new colour that all the night lay dead 
Is restorit, both fowlis, flowris and rise. *" 

Recomfort was, through Phebus goodliehead." 

» Bathed. 2 While. 3 Green. ^ Which. « Branches. 

6 Groves. ' Glees, ^ Delight. » Polished. 10 Foliage. 

11 Prol. to Palice Honor. Pinkerton's Scot. Poems, pp. 53, 54. 



286 CHAUCER. 



THE MUSES AT A WELL. 

Beside a crystall well sweet and digest, 

Them to repois, thair hors refresche and rest, 

Alighted doun these muses clear of hew. 

The companie all wholly, least and best, 

Thrang to the well to drink, which ran south west, 

Through out one mede where alkin^ flouris grew. 

Among the laif '^ full fast I did pursue 

To drink, but so the great preis me opprest, 

That of the water I micht not taste a drew.' 

Our horsis pasturit in ane plesand plain, 
Low at the fute of ane fair greene mountaine, 
Amid ane mede schaddowit* with cedar tries. 
Safe fro all heit, thair micht we well remain. 
All kindes of herbis, flouris, frute and greine. 
With every growing tree thair men might cheis^ 
The beryall streams rinn and over stanerie greis,® 
Made sober nois : the schaw duinef agane 
For birdis sang, and sounding of the bees. 

The lady is fair on divers instrumentis. 

Went playapd, singand, dansand, over the bentis,® 

Full angelik and hevenly was their soun. 

What creature amid his hart imprintis 

The fresh beutie, the goodly representis, 

The merrie speche, fair havings, hie renown, 

Of thame,® would set a wise man half in swoun.'° 

1 All kinds. 2 Rest. 3 Draught. ^ Shadowed. s Choose. 
6 Stony gravel. ' The wood dinned again. s Little hills 

9 Them. lo Pal. Hon. Pink. Scot. Poems, p. ]00. 



APPENDIX. 287 



M A 11 S .* 

Upon a barded courser stout and bold, 
Mars god of strife enarmit in burneist geir : 
Everie invasibill' weapon on him he bare, 
His look was grym, his body large and squair, 
His lymmis wele entailyiet^ to be Strang, 
His neck was greit a span length well or mair, 
His visage braid with crisp brown curling hair, 
Of stature not over greit, nor yet over lang.* 



MAY, ITS SIGHTS AND SOUNDS. 

For to behold it was ane^ glore to see 
The stablyt windis, and the calmyt sea, 
The soft seasoune, the firmament serene, 
The clear illuminate air and firth amene ;° 
And silver-scalit fishes on the grete.' 
****** 

And lusty Flora did her blossomes sprede 

Under the feet of Phebus' sulyeast steed. 

The swarded soil enbrode^ with selcouth*^ hues. 

Wood and forest odumbrate with be wis ; 

Whais blissful branches portrayed on the ground 

With shadows sheen shew roechis'" rubicund, 

Towers, turrets, kirnallis,'' and pinnacles high, 

Of castles, kirkis and ilki^ fair city, 

Stood painted every fane by their own umbrage. '^ 

I Compare with Lycurge, at p. 147.. 2 Hostile, 3 Shaped. 

4 Pal. Hon. Pink. Scot. Poems, p. 7G. & One glory or a glory. 

6 Gentle frith. ' Gravel. 8 Embroidered. ^ Uncommon. 
10 Rocks. " Battlements. 12 Each. ^3 Shade. 



288 CHAUCER-. 



And blissful blossoms in the blooming yard 
Submit their heads in the young sun's saf-gard. 
Ivy levis rank oerspred the barmkyn^ wall, 
The bloomit hawthorne clad his pykis'^ all : 
Forth of fresh burgeons^ the wyne grapis yyng, 
Endlong the trellis did on twistis hing. 
The lockit buttons on the gemmyt trees, 
Oerspreding leaves of naturis tapestries. 
Soft grassy verdure after balmy shouris 
On curland stalkis smiling to the flowris, 
Beholdand them so many divers hue, 
Some peirs,* some pale,^ some burnet' and some blew, 
And some depaint in frecklis, red and white, 
Some bright as gold, with aureate lyte. 
The daisy did unbrede her crownel small. 
And every flower un-lappit in the dale. 
******** 

Sere downis small on dandelion sprung, 
The young green bloomit strawberry leaves among, 
Gimp gilliflowers their own leaves un shet 
Fresh primrose and the purple violet. 

******** 

Amang the bronis'' of the olive twistis 
Sere smalle fowlis, worked crafty nestis 
Endlang the hedges thick, and on rank akis® 
Each bird rising with their mirthful makis.® 
In corners and clere fenesteris'" of glas 
Full busily wevand Arachne was. 
To knit her nettis, and hir webbes sly 

1 Rampart. 2 Thorns. s Sprigs. 4 Light blue. 

6 Light yellow. ^ Brown. "> Branches. 8 Oaks, 

s Mates. 10 Windows. 



APPENDIX. 2S9 



Therewith to catch the litel midge* or fly. 

*** + * + * 
The cushat crouds and pykkis on the rise,' 
The sterling changes divers steunnys nise,' 
The sparrow chirpis in the walles cleft, 
Goldspink and linnet fordynnand the lyft." 
The cuckow galis,^ and so twitteris the quail, 
While rivers reirdit ;^ schaws and every dale, 
And tender twistis tremble on the trees, 
For birdes song and bemyng of the bees. 
And all small fowlis singin on the spray, 
" Welcome thou lord of light, and lampe of day. 
Welcome thou fosterer of herbis grene. 
Welcome quickener of freshest flouris shene, 
Welcome support of every root and vein. 
Welcome comfort of al kind frute and grein. 
Welcome depainter of the blooming meads. 
Welcome the life of every thing that spreads. 
Welcome restorer of all kind bestial. 
Welcome be thy bright hemes gladding all/ 

[D.] 

The following " Story of Cockagne" is quoted to substantiate 
the text, which favors the idea that the monks of the twelfth, thir- 
teenth and fourteenth centuries were, as a body, idle, luxurious 
and unchaste. And also as a refutation, by contemporaneous 
testimony, of an attempt by a recent writer to prove that the me- 
diaeval world was greatly " indebted to the Monastic Orders," 
not merely because they were safe repositories for manuscripts and 

1 Gnat, - The dove crows and picks on the bush. 

3 Tuneful voices. '^ Heaven. ^ Cries, e Sounded. 

7 Prologue to twelfth book of Eneid. Sec Warton's His. Eng. Poetry, 
vol. ii., p. 282. 

14 



290 CHAUCER. 



the centres for diffusing very imperfect learning ; but as " places 
where (it may be imperfectly, yet better than elsewhere) God 
was worshipped — and as a shelter of respectful sympathy for the 
orphan maiden and the desolate widow. "^ 

Far in sea, by West Spain 

Is a land ihote^ Cokaygne, 

There n'is land under heaven^ rich 

Of wel* of goodness it ylike. 

Though Paradise be merry and bright, 

Cokaygne is of fairer sight. 

What is there in Paradise 

But grass, and flower, and green-rise ?^ 

Though there be joy and great dute® 

There n'is meat but fruit. 

There n'is hall, bure' no bench ; 

But water, man-is thirst to quench. 

Beth there no men but two, 

Hely^ and Enoch also. 

Clinglich may they go^ 

Where there wonneth no men mo, 

In Cokaygne is meat and drink, 

Without care, how^° and swink." 

The meat is trie,^^ the drink so clear. 

To noon, russin," and suppere ; 

I sigge^* (for sooth both were^^) 

There n'is land on earth its peer. 

J " The Dark Ages," by Rev. S. R. Maitland. 2 Called. 

3 Heaven. ^ Wealth. 5 Foliage. ^ Pleasure. 

' Bower. ^ Elias. 

9 " The sense seems to be," says Ellis, " it is easy for them to be clean 
and of pure heart, because they are only two." ^^ Anxiety. 

11 Labor. 12 Choice. i3 A meal between dinner and supper. 

" Affirm. 1* Truth best were. 



APPENDIX. 291 



Under heaven n'is land I wis 
Of so mochil joy and bliss. 

There is many swete sight : 
All is day, n'is there no night ; 
There n'is baret^ nother strife, * 
N'is there no death ac'^ ever life. 
There n'is lack of meat nor cloth ; 
There n'is man nor woman wroth ; 
There n'is serpent, wolf, no fox, 
Horse nor capil,^ cow nor ox ; 
There n'is sheep, nor swine, nor goat ; 
Nor none horwyla,^ God it wot, 
Nother harate," nother stud : 
The land is full of otlier good. 
N'is there fly, flea, nor louse. 
In cloth, town, bed nor house. 
There n'is dunnir," sleet, nor hail ; 
Nor none vile worm, nor snail : 
Nor none storm, rain, nor wind : 
There n'is man nor woman blind : 
Ok" all is game, joy and glee. 
Well is him that there may be ! 

There beth rivers, great and fine. 
Of oil, milk, honey, and wine. 
Water serveth there to no thing 
But to siyt" and to washing. 
There is al manner fruit : 
All is solace and dedute. 

There is a wel-fair Abbey 
Of white monkes, and of grey ; 
There beth bowers, and halls ; 

1 Wrangling. 2 But. 3 Steed. ■« Groom. 

6 Place where horses are bred. ^ Thunder. ' But. « Boil. 



292 CHAUCER. 



All of pasties beth the walls, 

Of flesh, of fish, and a rich meat, 

The likefullest that man may eat. 

Flouren-cakes beth the shingles all 

Of church, cloister, bovvers, and hall. 

The pinnes' beth fat puddings. 

Rich meat to princes and kings. 

Man may there of eat enoy, 

All with riyt, and nought with woy.^ 

All is common to young and old, 

To stout and stern, meek and bold. 

There beth birdes many and fele,^ 
Throstle, thrush, and nightingale, 
Chalandre and wood- wale,* 
And other birdes without tale, 
That stinteth never by har might 
Merry to sing day and night. 
Yet I do you mo to wit, 
The geese yroasted on the spit 
Flee to that abbey, God it wot 
And gredith,^ " Geese all hot ! all hot !" 

N'is no speech of no drink ; 
All take enough without swink.® 
When the monkes geeth to mass, 
■ All the finistres,^ that beth of glass, 
Turneth into chrystal bright, 
To give monkes more lijrht. 
The young monkes each day 
After meat goeth to play : 
N'is there hawk nor fowl so swift 
Better fleeing by the lift 

1 Towers. 2 At the right of all and not weighed. 3 Numerous. 

* Gold-finch and wood-lark. ^ Crieth. c Labor. ' Windows. 



APPENDIX. 293 



Than the monkes, high of mood, 
With hir sleeves and hir hood. 
Whan the abbot seeth ham flee 
That he holds for much glee. 
Ac natheless, all there among, 
He biddeth ham liirht to eve sono^. 
The monkes lighteth nought adown, 
Ac far fleth into randun ;^ 
Whan the abbot him y seeth 
That his monkes from him fleeth, 
He taketh maiden of the route, 
And turneth up her white toute ;'* 
And beateth the tabor with his hand, 
To make his monkes light to land. 
When his monkes that yseeth 
To the maid down hi ' fleeth, 
And goeth the wench all aboute 
And thwacketh all her white toute ; 
And sith after hir swink, 
Wendeth meekly home to drink. 

Another abbey is thereby. 
Forsooth a fair great nunnery : 
Up a river of sweet milk 
Where is plenty great of silk. 
When the summer's day is bote, 
The young nunnes taketh a boat. 
And doth hem forth in that rivere 
Both with oares and with steer. 
When hi beth far from the abbey 
Hi maketh iiam naked for to play, 

' rcandom. 

2 An equivocal gong, but as persuasive to the young monks, as the mo- 
dern dinner gong is to the epicure. 3 They. 



294 CHAUCER. 



And lieth down into the brim, 

And doth hem slily for to swim. 

The young monkes that hem seeth 

Hi doth hem up, and forth hi fleeth, 

And Cometh to the nunnes anon. 

And each monke him taketh one. 

Arid snellich^ forth beareth har prey 

To the mochil gray abbey. 

And teacheth the nunnes an orison 

With jamblenc'^ up and down. 

The monke that wol be stout and good 

And can set aright his hood,^ 

He shall have without dangere 

Twelve wives each yere. 

Of him is hope, God it wot, 

To be sone father abbot. 

Whoso will come that land to, 

Full great penance he mot do. 

Seven yeres in swine's dritte* 

He mot wade, wol ye ywitte,^ 

All anon up to the chin ; 

So he hall this land win.® 



[E.] 

GOING A MAYING. 

Get up, get up, for shame, the blooming morn 
Upon her wings presents the god unshorn. 

1 Swiftly. 2 Gambols. s Set his cap. 4 Dirt. 

6 You must know. e Warton and Ellis from Hickes' Thesaur. 



APPENDIX. 295 



See how Aurora throws her fair 

Fresh -quilted colours through the air j 

Get up, sweet slug-a-bed, and see 

The dew bespangling herb and tree. 
Each flower has wept, and bow'd toward the east 
Above an hour since, yet you not drest. 

Nay ! not so much as out of bed ; 

When all the birds have matins said, 

And sung their thankful hymns; 'tis sin, 

Nay, profanation to keep in, 
When as a thousand virgins on this day 
Spring, sooner than the lark, to fetch in May. 

Rise, and put on your foliage, and be seen 

To come forth, like the spring time, fresh and green, 

And sweet as Flora. Take no care 

For jewels for your gown or hair ; 

Fear not, the leaves will strew 

Gems in abundance upon you ; 
Besides the childhood of the day has kept 
Against you come, some orient pearls unwept. 

Come, and receive them while the light 

Hangs on the dew-locks of the night ; 

And Titan on the eastern hill 

Retires himself, or else stands still. 
Till you come forth. Wash, dress, be brief in praying ; 
Few beads are best, when once we go a Maying. 

Come, my Corinna, come, and coming, mark 
How each field turns a street, each street a park 

Made green, and trimmed with trees ; see how 

Devotion gives each house a bough. 

Or branch ; each porch, each door, ere this, 

An ark, a tabernacle is, 



295 CHAUCER. 



Made up of white-thorn neatly interwove ; 

As if here were those cooler shades of love. 
Can such delights be in the street 
And open fields, and we not see it ? 
Come, we'll abroad, and let's obey 
The proclamation made for May: 

And sin no more, as we have done, by staying ; 

But, my Corinna, come, let's go a Maying. 

Come, let us go, while we are in our prime, 
And take the harmless folly of the time. 

We shall grow old apace and die 

Before we know our liberty. 

Our life is short, and our days run 

As fast away as doth the Sun ; 
And as doth a vapour, or a drop of rain 
Once lost can ne'er be found again ; 

So when or you or I are made 

A fable, song, or fleeting shade ; 

All love, all liking, all delight. 

Lies drowned with us in endless night. 
Then while time serves, and we are but decaying, 
Come, my Corinna, come, let's go a Maying.^ 

1 Herrick's Hesperides, vol. ii., p. 22. 



THE END. 



" Sundry citizens of this good land, meaning well, and hoping well 
prompted by a certain something in their nature, have trained them 
selves to do service in various Essays, Poems, Histories, and books of 
Art, Fancy, and Truth." 

Address or thb American Copy-right Club. 



WILEY AND PUTNAM'S 

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IN TWO PARTS. — PART II. 

SELECTIONS 

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NOW READY 
GOETHE'S AUTOBIOGRAPHY, 

POETRY AND TRUTH FROM MY LIFE. 

FROM THE GERMAN OF GOETHE. 

BY PARKE GODWIN. 

(Library of Choice Reading LXXV., LXXVI.) 

Opinion of Carltle. — " Few Autobiographies have come in our 
way, where so difficult a matter was so successfully handled ; where 
perfect knowledge could be found united so kindly with perfect toler- 
ance ; and a personal narrative, moving along in soft clearness, showed 
us a man, and the objects that environed him, under an aspect so veri- 
similar, yet so lovely, with an air dignified and earnest, yet graceful, 
cheerful, even gay : a story as of a Patriarch to his children ; such in- 
deed, as few men can be called upon to relate, and few, if called upon, 
could relate so well. What would we give for such an Autobiography 
of Shakspeare, of Milton, even of Pope or Swift. 

" How it went with Goethe ; what was the practical basis of want and 
fulfilment, of joy and sorrow, from which his spiritual productions grew 
forth ; the characters of which they must, more or less, legibly read. 
In which sense, those Volumes entitled by him Dichtung and Warhheit, 
wherein his personal history, what he has thought fit to make known of 
it, stands delineated, will long be valuable. A noble commentary, in- 
structive in many ways, lies opened there, and yearly increasing in 
worth and interest ; which all readers, now when the true quality of it 
is ascertained, will rejoice that circumstances induced and allowed him 
to write : for surely if old Cellini's counsel have any propriety, it is 
doubly proper in this case, the autobiographic practice he recommends 
was never so much in place as here. ' All men, of what rank soever,' 
thus counsels the brave Benvenuto, ' who have accomplished aught vir- 
tuous or virtuous-like, should, provided they be conscious of really good 
purposes, write down their own life ; nevertheless, not put hand to so wor- 
thy an enterprize till after they have reached the age of forty.' All which 
ukase regulations Goethe had abundantly fulfilled — the last as abun- 
dantly as any, for he had now reached the age of sixty-two." 

This is the first translation of Goethe's works into English ; the pro- 
duction in print some few years ago under the title being a miserable 
affair, pronounced fey Mrs. Austin " one of the most flagrant specimens 
of literary dishonesty England has produced. It is, I believe, a bad 
translation of a bad French translation." Carlyle says of the pretended 
translator, " his work shows subtractions, and, what is worse, additions, 
but the unhappy Dragoman has already been chastised, perhaps too 
■sharply." 

Two more numbers of the library \vill ©omplete the work — to be 
issued at an early period. 

Dec. 7, 1846. WILEY & PUTNAM, 161 Broadway. 



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